


For Us

by Allubttoa



Series: The Cost of Magic and the Price of Duty [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bonding, Chocobros - Freeform, Consent Issues, Daddy Issues, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Language, Friendship is Magic, Friendship is literally magic, Graphic Violence, Ignis/Nyx is minor, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, M/M, OT4, Or at least more so that the previous fic, Our boys just need a hug, POV Alternating, Political Intrigue, Pre-Canon, Prompto Argentum-centric, Sex Magic, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, magic bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-02-01 11:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 80,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12704199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allubttoa/pseuds/Allubttoa
Summary: ----“Form a Covenant with a few of my men. Grant them your magic, and we will set you free. It’s that simple.”Noctis swallowed loudly, the sound echoing out in the apprehensive silence. He whispered his answer so softly that Prompto barely caught it. “No. I won’t do that.”“Then we kill the blonde first."----Noctis has completed the ritual with Ignis and Gladio that grants his magic to his retainers; however, their problems are far from over. As their political rivals make a deadly counter-move, Prompto will be dragged headfirst into the intrigue, and Noctis will be faced with an impossible choice: his duty to the Crown or the lives of his dearest friends.





	1. Friendly Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second fic of a series. Of course, I recommend reading the previous entry, but if that's not your jam, here is a quick summary: Noctis is told he has to fuck his retainers to give them his power. Sneaky Drautos spends the fic trying to convince Regis to put him in charge of that process. However, in the end, Ignis, Gladio, and Noctis decide even though they may not have a choice in whether they *do* it, they can choose what it means to them. So they choose to to have a very loving and porny threesome. This fic follows directly after that. 
> 
> However, the tone of this fic, as I said at the end of previous installment, will be a bit darker. I do not make the same promise that every sexual encounter will be fully one hundred percent kosher and consensual. Still, I will always warn as appropriate so you can make informed choices for yourself. E.g. warning throughout the fic for graphic violence.
> 
> With that out of the way, please enjoy. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plot is hatched.

*For Us* 

_“The sea that is pure water for fish_

_will never satisfy human thirst.”_

*** 

**Noctis** 

*** 

A Figure towered high above a dark haired teenager in a murky dreamscape. The Figure had dozens of swords splayed at his back, and he exuded a sort of pressure that pushed at the teen, making him long to cower and hide. Lifting a hand, the Figure asked coldly, “What will you give me for their lives?” 

The teenager turned around and saw his friends laying on the ground behind him, bodies growing stiff and cold. “What do you want from me?” he shouted, voice breaking. “Tell me what to do!” 

“Submit,” said the Being, implacable. 

The young teenager shook his head. “I did,” he cried. “I did!” He collapsed to his knees, lifting his face toward the Being. _“Please.”_

The Being only repeated Himself. “Submit.” 

“How!? Tell me how!” 

“Submit.” 

The teen cried out in frustration. 

“Submit.” With suddenness, the Being rushed forward, his swords swirling around himself in a tight pattern. He stopped right in front of the teenager and one weapon lifted high above the others. In a high arc, it swung down and stabbed the teen through the chest. The teen’s face stiffened in a silent rigor of pain, his back arching wildly. 

The Being shook his head sadly. “Submit,” He said. 

*** 

Noctis Lucis Caelum awoke with a start. Leaning his head heavily against the car window, he tried in vain to ignore his rolling nausea. He felt like shit. Next to him, Gladiolus Amicitia, the future Shield to the King, was for all intents and purposes dead to the world, head drooped against his seatbelt and dripping drool onto his collar. He had been asleep like that for several hours and showed no signs of awaking anytime soon. Noctis envied that sweet, dreamless sleep. 

The magic that connected Noctis’s family to the Crystal that protected all of Lucis was incredibly powerful. The royal ability to grant that power further to their retainers through the formation of a Covenant was even more amazing. But the cost of that ability was the eventually deadly draw on his health. Every time Noctis pushed himself magically, he paid for it later with incredible fever-like fatigue. And last night, Noctis had pushed himself further than he ever had before, creating two bonds with his closest retainers using an enormous burst of magical energy. 

From the driver’s seat, the Crownsguard tasked with taking the two fatigued men back to Noct’s apartment lifted his eyes, meeting Noctis’s gaze through the rearview mirror. “You okay back there, Prince Noctis?” 

“Fine,” answered Noct stiffly. 

“Ya’ sure? You were kind of twitching like a mad thing there for a minute.” 

“I said I’m fine.” Noctis purposely ignored the look the Guard shot him and stared out the window, only to jolt his head in surprise. “Wait, stop the car!” 

“Prince Noct—?” 

“Stop the fucking car, Adrian.” 

The car screeched to a halt as Noctis hastily rolled down his window. He called to the person obliviously jogging down the street. “Prompto!” 

The blonde must have had his headphones in, because he gave no acknowledgement and was already moving further away. Adrian began to roll the car forward without being prompted, though Noctis could feel his resignation. 

“Prompto!” he called even louder. At that, the blonde finally stopped and jerked his head around. As he saw who was calling him, his face brightened considerably and he waved with one hand, pulling his earbuds out with the other. Adrian stopped the car again next to the teen. 

“Noctis! What’s up?” 

It wasn’t that Noctis had forgotten why exactly Gladio was passed out in the seat next to him or thought that Prompto wouldn’t ask questions, but the sight of his blonde friend had driven all other thoughts of consequences out of his mind, and now it was too late to take it back. 

The prince gestured to the car door, and Prompto didn’t need another invitation. He peeked his head in the window, saw how Gladio was stretched out over the back seat, barely leaving room for Noctis let alone another person, and chose to climb in the front with the Crownsguard instead. 

As Guard Adrian peeled away from the curb, Prompto turned around and asked, “What’s up with Glad? Is he, like, drunk?” The blonde was covered in a slight sheen of sweat from his jogging, his breathing heavy and quick. 

“Magic stuff,” Noctis said tightly. It didn’t feel fair to let Prompto think that Gladio had done something as unlike himself as getting drunk, and he couldn’t think of another lie fast enough. 

“Hmn. So does that mean you and Gladio made up?” Prompto asked as he considered Noctis closely. 

“What?” 

“Well you normally only look that tired after he’s made you practice about a thousand warps or whatever.” 

“Oh.” Of course, that was what Prompto would assume. He had no reason to think anything else. Noctis’s brain helpfully produced an image of Gladio with Ignis in his lap last night, rolling his hips languidly. “Um, sort of. It’s a really long story.” 

Prompto nodded in acceptance. 

With some hesitation, Noctis added, “I sort of did something stupid last night, and I think Ignis is being punished for it right now. I’m kinda worried about it.” To be honest, Noctis was more than a little worried, but to explain that would require explaining the full situation, and he wasn’t sure he could do that at the moment. 

But ever the accepting friend, Prompto didn’t demand a further explanation, choosing instead to focus on what Noctis had offered him. “Can you do anything to help him right now?” the blonde asked seriously. 

Noctis thought about it. “Probably by keeping my head down. It’s just hard to wait and not know what’s going on, you know?” 

“Yeah, I do,” agreed Prompto with a wry smile. “Well, I was hoping you wanted to hang out today anyway, so why don’t we wait at the apartment together? Maybe it’ll be easier that way. Is Gladio coming to the apartment too?” 

With a grateful smile, Noctis nodded. “Yeah, I think we were just gonna dump him on the couch till he comes back online. I’m so out of it though, I might not be the best company,” he warned. 

Prompto shrugged. “You’ve got that new game system don’t you? Who said I wanted _your_ company anyway?” he teased. 

“Ha. So now I know the terrible truth.” 

They teased back and forth like that as Adrian stopped at the school to let Prompto grab his backpack from the track locker room, and then pulled into the parking garage of Noct’s apartment building. The Crownsguard parked the car at the elevator and turned around to face the two boys. “You two behave yourselves, you hear. I’ll help you get this big guy up the stairs and then I’ll leave you three alone.” He looked at Noctis significantly. “You’re not supposed to go anywhere in your ‘condition.’ If you need anything, call me. I’m on duty until eight tonight, then it’s Guard Claudius, okay?” 

Noctis was eternally grateful that Adrian had picked up on his reticence of the topic of the Covenant around Prompto. The blonde had no reason to think Noct’s ‘condition’ was related to anything other than his normal magical training. “Yeah, yeah,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “I got it.” 

Adrian shook his head. “I’m serious, Prince Noctis. You’re not to so much as walk your friend to the bus stop.” 

“I said I got it, Astrals.” 

With that, the Guard and Prompto worked together to pull Gladio out of the car. Noctis turned out to be less than helpful. He had to lean against the car to fight the wave of dizziness that overcame him as he stood. 

He might be better off than Gladio in that he was technically awake, but he thought that if what had happened to jolt him into wakefulness when Ignis had called the weapon to himself hadn’t happened, he’d be just as out of it as his Shield. 

He shivered to think about the thing with Ignis, the strange feeling of possession that had overcome him to see Ignis using his magic. At least before the sight of his dad had driven all that out of his mind. It wasn’t a paternal feeling, this possessiveness. Nor was it quite sexual or romantic, though Noctis was feeling plenty of that too. Ignis was his, bound forever to his power. The feeling was . . . Noctis simply didn’t have a word, and he sighed in frustration, letting his focus shift to making it to the elevator without collapsing. 

The Crownsguard and Prompto each had an arm under Gladio’s shoulder, and they half dragged him to the elevator. As he was held upright, Gladio finally shifted on his own, mumbling under his breath. “Quit hogging the bed, Noct,” he slurred. The Shield got his legs under himself, and though he dragged them slightly, he did help the other two move his body, like a sleepwalker. Noctis had no idea if sleepwalking was something Gladio had ever done before. 

At the Shield’s slurred words, Prompto turned back and quirked an eyebrow at Noctis. The prince shrugged. Let Prompto draw his own conclusions there. It wasn’t like he would jump to anything close to the truth anyway. Who would assume that their three best friends had just engaged in a magic fueled threesome? 

Finally, all four of them made it to the elevator. Noctis had, in fact, not collapsed, which he held as a major victory. 

“So what exactly did you do anyway?” Prompto asked as the doors closed and the elevator began to move, clearly unable to help himself any longer. 

Noctis refused to look at the Crownsguard. “Stole my dad’s car, the Regalia. Took it on a joy ride,” he admitted unwillingly. 

“Seriously?” Prompto choked. “Gods, Noct.” 

Noctis closed his eyes as his stomach did an uncomfortable, nauseated twist with the movement of the elevator. They were all silent for a few seconds as the floor numbers ticked up. The elevator lurched to a stop, and Noctis manfully kept down the meager contents of his stomach. 

The door opened. Prompto was standing closest to the exit, the Crownsguard in the far back, holding up Gladio. 

“Noct?” _Uncertainty. Hesitation._ Prompto did not exit the elevator. 

The prince unwillingly opened his eyes. Strangely, the blonde teen stood completely frozen. Noctis leaned over the taller boy’s shoulder, and his meandering thoughts came to a roaring stop. “Get back, Prompto!” Noctis shoved his friend behind himself, yanking on the blonde’s unresponsive body. There was a man lying in a pool of blood in front of the elevator door. 

_There was a man lying in a pool of blood._

_Oh Gods, there was a man lying in a pool of blood in front of the elevator door._

_There was a man lying in a pool of blood in front of the elevator door._

Not just a man. His name was Gregor, and he quite naively thought that Noct believed the lie that he was normal civilian building security instead of a Crownsguard member. He was thirty years old and recently divorced. He and Noctis chatted sometimes while Noct was waiting on the elevator. 

Except that he was dead, his insides spilling out all over the hallway. 

A noise. 

Noctis jerked his gaze away from the gruesome sight. Another man stood at the end of the hallway, near the entrance to Noct’s apartment. He was dressed all in black, his face hidden behind a mask. In the millisecond that Noctis allowed himself to stare, he noted the military grade armored vest, the heavy gun slung across his back, and the rifle in his hands. He had a walkie talkie on his other hip. 

The man silently raised his rifle as their eyes met. Then Guard Adrian was somehow in front of the two teens, shouting. He pushed Noctis so hard that the prince fell, landing in a pile on top of Gladio’s motionless body. The guard opened his hands wide just as a spray of bullets hit the elevator. It was so _loud._ The concussive force of lead slamming into the steel walls shook Noctis to the bone and deadened his wits, making his thoughts formless, except for the ‘ _Oh God!’_

Blood splattered against the walls. Guard Adrian’s body shook grotesquely, like a ragdoll. He crumpled to the floor. Noctis saw, like in slow motion, the man in black striding down the hall, gun held high. 

Then the elevator door began to close. 

As he looked up, Noctis saw that Prompto had his palm splayed against the button for the basement garage, his face a white sheet. With willpower he didn’t know he possessed, Noctis clambered to his feet again just as the doors fully shut and the elevator groaned. In the deadened silence that followed, his panicked thoughts cleared away, leaving a numb coldness behind. 

They were under attack. _This was real._ Their lives were in danger. A pool of blood was forming around Adrian, his body lying face down on the hard floor. He was dead. He had been lecturing Noctis just five minutes ago on safety, and now he was dead. But Noctis couldn’t think about that right now. 

Prompto was still very much alive. He and Gladio were still very much alive. But not for much longer if they didn’t do something. 

*** 

**Ignis Scientia** 

*** 

Ignis dropped off the Regalia in the royal parking garage underneath the Citadel. He winced as he passed the destroyed levered gate that Noctis had reduced to pieces during their wild escape. With as much dignity as he could muster, he also ignored the curious look of the Crownsguard at the elevator, pressing the button for the royal apartments with a sinking stomach. 

Were Clarus and King Regis so angry with him that they would remove him from his position, even though he had completed the ritual with Noct? Ignis knew that Gladio had believed that forming a Covenant would go a long way towards protecting Ignis. It was part of the reason he had fought so hard to get the three of them to finally go for the threesome. The king himself did not seem particularly angry with Ignis, but he was also notoriously difficult to read. Clarus, on the other hand, had the famously hot Amicitia temper, but it wasn’t his decision to make one way or the other. 

Ignis just needed to approach this with a calm and logical mind, controlling what he could and letting go of what he could not. He only had power over his own behavior, and so all he could do was be polite and honest. Nothing more. 

As he entered the King’s study, he saw that not only were Clarus and the King already there, but Drautos, the Kingsglaive captain was as well. 

Drautos was speaking, “Of course, while I’ve made it no secret that I don’t think Gladiolus is mature enough for this, as long as the prince remains safe, that’s all I care about.” 

The King noticed Ignis’s arrival first. “Ah, Master Scientia. Please join us,” he said with a wave of his hand. 

Ignis bowed as he entered, and then stood at attention in front of them. “Master Scientia,” began the King without preamble, dropping his earlier conversation with Drautos, “You have always been admirable in your dedication to Prince Noctis, and I am never more at ease than when I know he is in your capable hands. There were many that questioned my decision to let him be tutored by one nearly as young as himself, especially after some of your more . . . youthful exploits.” 

The King was referring to the times that Noctis and Ignis had snuck out of the Citadel together when they had been much younger. Ignis had been given a room very close to Noctis’s, and he could still remember the first time he had heard clattering noises on the roof above him. Thinking that it must be a thief or even an assassin, Ignis had climbed out of his window himself, only to be confronted by a twelve-year-old Noctis. Oh, how the prince had begged Ignis not to tell and threatened to never speak to him again if the advisor went to his father. It wasn’t likely that the threat had ever possessed any merit. Noctis didn’t have enough friends to let one go so easily, but still, Ignis had never been able to bring himself to call that bluff. Besides, climbing the roof was beyond dangerous. Better to have someone go with the errant prince, rather than risk him falling to his death. Or so, Ignis had always justified it to himself. 

The king continued, “However, you are at an age now where such exploits are not so easily excused. No matter the reason, the bottom line is you put the prince in danger last night.” 

Ignis bowed his head in shame. “I know, Your Majesty.” 

“You must be punished. Especially since it is well known throughout the Citadel that you and Noctis stole the car last night. I think a week of third shift guard duty within—.” 

Ignis gasped loudly. He couldn’t help himself. There was a strange buzzing in his head, and his heart stuttered unevenly. It came on him so suddenly. He let out another gasping breath and clutched at his breast. 

“Ignis!” Clarus was moving, his arm abruptly under Ignis’s shoulder, holding him up. “Ignis, what’s going on?!” 

“I—I don’t know.” Ignis truly had no idea. Was it a heart attack? People his age didn’t really have those. Panic attacks sometimes felt like heart attacks though, Ignis had once heard. Was he completely losing his composure? 

Ignis’s heart was now racing a mile a minute. His breath came out in short, heaving jerks. 

“STOP!” The king’s voice had never sounded so powerful before. It hit Ignis like a hammer, and his eyes fluttered into focus without his input, landing back on his monarch. King Regis looked—frightened. His hands trembled on his cane, his nostrils flared, and his mouth was drawn in a thin, almost non-existent line. 

“Close your eyes, Ignis,” he commanded. Next to him, Drautos frowned. 

Ignis obeyed, fighting his rabbiting heartbeat. “Focus,” said the king. “Focus on Noctis.” 

The advisor cast his senses out as best he could. He still hadn’t quite gotten the grasp of this. There was a shrieking hum in the back of his mind, like an air raid siren. “I don’t understand,” he said. 

“What do you feel?” King Regis’s voice was tightly controlled. 

Ignis shook his head, his eyes still closed. The shrieking hum was twisting itself through his mind, snagging at his thoughts. “I need to go to him,” Ignis announced abruptly, his voice almost dreamlike. “Noct needs my help.” Yes, Ignis suddenly saw, he must find Noctis and push his strength and health into the prince. He could do things like that now that they were bonded, and Noct called to him incessantly with his need. To that end, the magic twined them together, trying to pull on and compel Ignis for its master. 

The King’s voice was cold with fear. “Drautos, mobilize the Kingsglaive. Every last one of them. Shut down the city gates and all the main streets. Send your best Glaives to the penthouse.” 

“Majesty,” replied the Drautos, and then he was pulling out a communication device and speaking in quick decisive tones as he walked away. Clarus too, spoke into a blocky phone. 

Ignis raised his eyes to the king, feeling light headed and not understanding. He felt desperately that he must do something, he just wasn’t sure how. The king said in a quiet voice, “When one is first bonded through a Covenant, it’s wild and powerful before it stabilizes. Clarus and my other close retainers can sense when I am in danger or injured due to the sheer strength of our bond, but sometimes brand new Kingsglaive sense it as well in the first days after a bonding.” 

_Danger? Hurt?_ “I have to go to him,” Ignis groaned feverishly. "He needs me." 

“I know,” replied the king. 

Before he could speak again, Clarus said grimly, “The Crownsguard on duty today aren’t answering their comms. Neither is Guard Adrian.” 

“They were heading home. We will start there.” Both King Regis and Clarus began to move away, the king ignoring his cane. Though he limped, his speed was enough that Clarus had to take long strides to keep up with him. 

Ignis startled as if he had been shoved. “You can't just leave me here.” 

Clarus turned around, a look of impatience across his face. “Don’t be stupid. You’re coming with us.” 

*** 

**Noctis** 

*** 

Noctis’s thoughts swirled as the elevator descended. The masked man had possessed a walkie talkie. That coupled with the fact that the clearly defeated security of this building involved several plain-clothed Crownsguard members suggested that there had to be multiple assailants. The man had seen them go back into the elevator. All anyone had to do to stop the elevator before it got back to the parking garage was press the request button on a different floor. They weren’t making it to the garage like this. Would it be better to stop the elevator now and go down the stairs? 

Prompto had his cell phone out and was cursing. He looked at Noctis in despair, “No signal in the elevator!” 

They were trapped. All their options for escape depended on them having enough time to get somewhere safe. Safe enough to call for help, safe enough to run away. Cold calm settled over Noctis even more deeply. Neither he nor Prompto were strong enough to carry the unconscious Gladio anywhere quickly. For a millisecond, the thought came to Noctis that Gladio would tell him to abandon both himself and Prompto. Noctis’s life and his singularly unique magic were worth any sacrifice. 

They were almost at the ground floor, and they hadn’t been stopped yet. But they would be. 

“Prompto,” Noctis said quickly. “Listen to me. Eleven, twenty-nine, sixteen! Say it!” He shook the blonde. 

“Eleven, twenty-nine, sixteen!” Prompto repeated shrilly. 

“There’s a door next to the elevator in the parking garage. Looks like a closet. That code opens the panel on the back wall. Leave Gladio in the elevator, get there, and lock the door behind you. Got it? Say it again!” When the blonde didn’t answer, Noctis demanded again, “Prompto!” 

The elevator shuddered to a halt, the display showing they were at the ground floor, the apartment lobby. 

“Eleven, twenty-nine, sixteen, but Noct—!” 

Noctis pushed himself harder in that moment than he had ever pushed himself before, and he was rewarded when a shiny, metallic shield burst into existence in his hand. 

Prompto gasped. The doors started to open. “Get to the garage, Prom,” Noctis commanded without looking back at his friend. He bent down and braced himself behind the shield. 

Six men stood in front of the opening of the elevator door, about ten feet away. They were all dressed and armed similarly to the man upstairs. They pointed their guns at the two teenagers, and one of them raised his hand, demanding “Prince Noctis, surrender now or we will—.” 

Noctis launched himself forward in a flurry of sparks, the shield already disappearing and being replaced with the Engine Blade. He landed from his warp, his sword deep in the chest of one of the men. The rest of them scattered with mixed shouts, before turning back to converge on him. But he was already yanking his weapon away from his victim with a sickening squelch. 

No time to think about that. He blasted forward again, intending to warp to somewhere safer. Though he intended to warp across the room, in actuality, he made it about eight feet, stumbling and barely keeping his footing. He vaguely noticed the sound of the elevator dinging closed again. So, at least he had accomplished his goal of keeping Prompto safe. Now he just had to make it out of this alive. 

Noctis twisted back towards his attackers just in time to raise his weapon defensively across his body. Electricity crackled up and down the blade of Noct’s sword before disappearing into the hilt. The man attacking him lifted his weapon, some sort of electricity producing club about two feet in length, and slammed it into Noctis again as hard as possible. Once more, the Engine Blade absorbed the shock. 

Now the Engine Blade crackled with electricity all on its own. The elemental energy looped around and coalesced into Noctis’s sword hand, before disappearing under his skin. As the man raised his weapon yet again, Noctis shouted with a feral cry and let loose a stream of violent, purple electricity straight at the man’s chest. His attacker cried out and stumbled back, dropping his weapon. _Idiot._

But Noctis had no time to celebrate. That effort left him weak and dizzy, and there were still four men fighting him. The next assailant that approached was smarter. He had a similar Taser device, but it was turned off, and he swung it like a club. 

Though he normally faced no difficulty with attacks like that, Noctis’s magical weakness proved to be his undoing. His attempt to phase through the club failed miserably, and instead he was hit hard in the solar plexus. All the air went out of him with a whoosh. He went down face first, his weapon scattering away in a wave of sparks. 

The man gave him no time to recover, bringing his club down on Noctis again. Pain burst across his back and shoulders. Then again and again. Noctis screamed. Finally, mercifully, the beating stopped. 

Before he could take stock of the change in his situation, Noctis became aware of the cold press of a gun barrel against the back of his head. “Move and I’ll shoot you.” 

Noctis held himself still. Then his world stopped as he heard a very, very familiar ding. 

The press of the gun against his head tightened, the man above him swearing, “The hell?” Meanwhile, Noctis’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. He twisted, heedless of the gun at his head, until he could see the elevator door open yet again. 

Prompto stepped out. 

In his hand was a bright flask filled with messily swirling energy. For an instant, their eyes met across the room. Noctis silently begged with everything he had for Prompto to stop this, to run away while he still could. Why hadn’t he gone for help? What was he planning on doing? And where the hell had he gotten a magic flask? 

Then Noctis remembered with a sickening shock of clarity, the flask full of powerful elemental energies he had given Prompto for protection the day that Niflheim had attacked the magical dome. “Prompto! No!” 

Prompto ignored him, his face hardening in determination. He threw the flask in a wide sailing arc, and it broke on the ground at Noctis’s feet. 

All hell broke loose around Noctis and the four men still attacking him. A fireball exploded out of the shards of glass, its force enough to push all of them back, including the man with the gun against Noct’s head. The prince felt it singe and burn his clothes as he curled in on himself, trying to protect his neck and chest. The flame scorched his skin, faster than his body could absorb it. 

But what the magical fireball was doing to Noctis was nothing compared to what it did to the others. They did not have elemental magic. They could not absorb the virulent energies that Prompto had loosed upon everyone in the room. The four men screamed in anguish as the flesh peeled off their limbs. 

Another fireball detonated. Then another. The flask had been strong enough to contain several bombs worth of elemental power. Noctis burned and choked on heat. His ears rang, and his vision filled with bright, incomprehensible flashes of light. 

And then it was over. Noctis lay panting on the ground, his back burning in agony. He could smell how his hair had cooked, and he could tell the remains of his clothing were bubbling into the skin on his back. 

Noctis knew he had to move. He drew his legs underneath himself, preparing to clamber back to his feet, and raised his eyes. He ignored the pain in his back and shoulders, the burning torture of his destroyed flesh, the fact that his magic had nothing left to give. His magic _would_ obey him. 

However, as he tried to call another weapon, nothing happened. Not only did nothing happen, but there was a sickening buzzing in Noctis’s head. His heart raced faster and faster as a new panic replaced the overwhelming agony. Noctis could not feel his magic. Not a drop, not the ocean of power that normally answered his call in fight, not even the humming murmur that filled the back of his mind at every minute of every day. Nothing. 

When had he grown so used to the feel of his magic, that a lack thereof left him feeling dead to the world, like he had been rendered deaf and blind? He trembled. He didn’t think he could fight anyone right now unarmed. He _needed_ his magic. 

Meanwhile, a man approached him, stepping over the bodies of his fallen comrades. Something in the stranger’s eyes told Noctis that he was the same man that had shot at them from the penthouse floor, killing Adrian. He must have finally made it down the stairs. The man walked slowly and confidently towards Noctis, his boots clacking loudly in the post explosion silence. 

Then Noctis saw the reason for his confidence. The four men hit by the magic bomb alongside Noctis were in various states of deadly injury on the floor. There was the fifth that Noctis had killed coming out of the elevator, and the sixth knocked out from Noct’s electrical attack. But there must have been more in the building, perhaps with the man upstairs, because yet another man held a rifle to Prompto’s head. The new man had his fist in the back of the blonde’s shirt. Tears leaked down Prompto’s face, but he did not resist his captor. 

Coming to stand before the prince, the first man peered down at him from behind his mask. He smelled of cigarette smoke, and when he spoke, his voice had a low, gravely quality. “You sure have made a fine mess of things, Highness.” His voice was light, betraying no real emotion. “If you don’t cooperate, my man here will shoot your friend in the head. Then we’ll still take you with us, but we’ll tear your fingernails out one by one for the trouble. Got it?” 

Noctis shook. He once again desperately called to his magic. _Nothing._

The man stood, patiently waiting. 

Finally, Noctis collapsed to his knees and hung his head. As the fight went out of him, every grievous injury he had sustained in the past few minutes swelled in his senses, and became unbearable. With a plaintive cry, Noctis fell into a black void. 

*** 

**Ignis Scientia** 

*** 

They were silent as they climbed in the Regalia. Ignis was placed in the back seat with the king, heedless of any potential breach in propriety. Clarus drove. 

Right in the beginning of the drive to the penthouse, the buzzing need that had been boring into Ignis’s head suddenly stopped. From one second to the next, it was just gone. He gasped and pressed his fingers into his temples. 

The king glared at him tensely, eyes questioning. Ignis swallowed down his fear for Noctis and said as steadily as he could, “It’s just gone. The—feeling of him. It just stopped.” 

For a second, the king remained frozen. His knuckles on his cane were taut and white. Then he nodded, and Clarus drove with renewed urgency. They were all three silent for the rest of the trip. 

When they arrived, the apartment building was crawling with Kingsglaive. Drautos stood slightly apart, directing activity. Clarus pulled the car next him, and climbed out without even stopping the engine. The king did not wait for someone to open the door for him. Ignis stumbled out and around the car. 

Several bodies were piled up on the sidewalk, covered in rough blankets. Ignis saw the king glance at them, then at Drautos. His stomach tightened. _It couldn’t be._

Drautos said, “Three dead Crownsguard, including Guard Adrian Somotas. They found him in the elevator. The other two were dead at their posts, shot in the head.” 

Ignis let out a sigh of relief, then felt an immediate horror. Just because they weren’t Noctis or Gladio, didn’t mean that they didn’t matter. Three people were still dead. 

Drautos continued, “They did a number on the attackers. Found six dead assailants. The other attackers left their injured behind, but shot them in the head before they left, probably to make sure they didn’t talk. All the dead, except for Guard Gregor, were found on the lobby level. One was stabbed with a sword. Probably by one of the Crownsguard before he fell. The others were burned to crisp and then shot in the head. There was significant structural damage in the lobby and the remains of a magic flask. We’ve seen no hide or hair of Prince Noctis or Gladiolus. We don’t know how many assailants there are all together, only that they were willing to leave these six behind. We also don’t know how they prevented the Crownsguard from calling for help, nor how they were able to subdue Prince Noctis. I don’t think they would go through all of this trouble just to kill him somewhere else, but we don’t know that for sure.” 

With every word, Ignis’s heart sank deeper and deeper. Noctis and Gladio both missing. Attacked while they were both weak from a magical ritual. Could it be a coincidence? 

“You’ve shut down the city?” asked the king. His voice was toneless, cold and empty. 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” confirmed Drautos. 

The king betrayed himself with a shaky breath. “Do everything within your power to find my son.” Regis turned away, but Ignis heard him murmur under his breath, “Gods—Wise Bahamut and Gentle Shiva. _Please._ Not yet. You can't have him yet--Not like this.” 

Ignis jumped as King Regis turned back to him. “Do you feel anything, Ignis?” 

Ignis dutifully closed his eyes, but it was just like it had been in the car. Nothing. He shook his head. 

He wanted to ask, did feeling nothing, did that mean Noctis was dead or dying? What did it mean? Despite his misgivings, Ignis heard himself repeating his king’s prayer, _“Not like this. Please, Gods. Not like this.”_

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Thank you so much for all the support, both for For Duty and now the sequel.   
> **Kudos and Comments are love. <3


	2. The Power of the Few

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto realizes that magic flasks are not toys. Ignis becomes more and more desperate to find his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I want to make a blanket warning about the violence in this fic. It is, especially here in the beginning, about the level of an R rated movie. There will be blood and bodies and pain. Not to titillate, but hopefully to create suspense. I'm only going to warn from here on out if it's particularly bad or if there is some other needed warning. I will _always_ warn for anything sex, consent, or gendered violence related.
> 
> **Two other warnings: there are some self-esteem issues with Prompto in this chapter. It is just a few mentions, but I want to be clear and open. Also, there is a threat of non-con in this chapter. More detail in the endnote.

*** 

**Prompto Argentum** 

*** 

Prompto always knew that Prince Noctis was different than everyone else around him. Really it wasn’t that controversial of a thought. Of course, the prince was different than everyone else. He was a prince, an heir to the line Lucis. But what Prompto hadn’t realized was that his idea of different was not the same as everyone else’s idea of different. When Prompto looked at Noctis and thought _different_ , what he meant was _more_. More worthy, more powerful, more beautiful, and more important. However, when other people looked at Noctis and thought _different_ , often what they meant was _strange_. _Other._

The differences between Noctis and everyone else around him were in the small things. They were in the sleek back cars that always came to pick him up from school and the many excused absences for things like royal processions and dinners. But the difference was also in his brilliant blue gaze. In how, when his eyes met yours, they were always just a bit too much, too direct and knowing. 

And thus, perhaps the strangest thing that separated Noctis from his peers was his magic. To have some magic wasn’t wholly uncommon in Lucis. People able to wield the elements or heal or even spout uncanny truths about the future were always cropping up here and there. But the difference between those people and the Prince of Lucis was the difference between having magic and _being_ magic. Noctis seemed to exude magic from his very pores, and you couldn’t spend any amount of time with him and completely forget that fact. 

Knowing how different Noctis was from himself, Prompto had always despaired at ever being able to walk up to the prince and name him a friend. Prompto was awkward, fat, and ugly. And so many people already vied for the prince’s attention. Prince Noctis was always being accosted by girls wanting to gift him with some homemade present or boys demanding to play a ball game. Prompto knew he had nothing to offer compared to them. 

There was one moment in particular that would always stand out to the blonde teen. One time that exemplified everything that made Prince Noctis special and Prompto not. They were in middle school, both around twelve or thirteen. The school was on lunch break, and Prompto sat at the edge of the courtyard, flicking through the pictures he had taken that morning on his route to school. He had begun his diet in the last year and was already beginning to see minor improvements. 

A large group of children, including the prince, played a game of ball, shouting and shoving. Another group of children sat on the courtyard wall. The wall began at a height of two feet close to the school building and slowly increased until it was nearly eight feet tall by the school gate. It was a very popular thing to do, to dare each other to climb up there or sit in a group and share secrets at the top. 

Prompto was minding his own business when a blood curling shriek rang out. The shriek demanded attention, and he stood up, almost without meaning to. A girl had fallen off of the courtyard wall and into a flower bed. The horrifying part was that someone had left a small rake laying in the bed, and the force of her fall drove the spokes straight into the meat of her leg. 

A crowd quickly gathered around her. There were no teachers around, and children shoved at each other, some crying, some shouting. Prompto stood at the edge of the commotion. He felt frozen, unable to act. He could see the blood welling, the sickening vision of the metal disappearing into her leg, and he was simply frozen. As he watched, he had a stray thought. Someone should do something, get a teacher or call for help. Yet he remained unable to move. 

But then Prince Noctis pushed his way through. Others gave way to him as if he radiated a force that demanded obedience. The delicately boned prince knelt beside the sobbing girl and clasped her hand in his own. “Victoria, look at me,” he said, with a voice that had the soft, ringing clarity of a bell. She complied, and Prompto had no idea what she saw there, but even though her sobbing didn’t slow down, she stilled. “You’re going to be okay, Victoria,” he continued, “I promise you.” 

She nodded, sniffling messily, and Prince Noctis reached into his own pocket, withdrawing a cellphone. Not many children their age had them, and Prompto had never seen him use one before. The prince handed it to one of the students standing behind him. “Can you press #1 for me, please? Then tell the person who answers that I’m gravely injured in the courtyard?” 

The boy was an upperclassman. He trembled as he took the phone from the prince’s hand and said, “But you’re not hurt—.” 

“I know. But it’ll bring them here faster. Please just do it. You won’t get in trouble.” 

The boy nodded and did as the prince asked. The crowd had quieted down to a murmur at that point, but the prince didn’t seem to notice. Prompto thought it was all well and good that the boy Noctis had asked to make the call wouldn’t get in trouble, but he wasn’t the one at risk for that. 

“Aren’t you the one who’ll be punished though?” Prompto didn’t realize he said the words out loud until the prince’s head jerked around and landed on him. 

Prompto swallowed as the prince’s eyes narrowed. Noctis’s gaze remained locked onto Prompto for several heart pounding seconds, but then the girl moaned and whined pitifully, “Its hurts.” 

Like that, the prince turned back around and smiled at her. “I know it does. I think I can help though. At least until someone better than me gets here.” He withdrew a tiny glass phial from his other pocket. 

Later, much later, Prompto would learn exactly how difficult it had been for the prince to attempt to do what he did next. The prince’s Elemancy magic was difficult to control. He could either draw in magical elemental energies from the environment around him into his body or expel them. What he could not do, however, was hover somewhere in between, letting the elemental energy sit on his skin, unabsorbed. So instead, what he attempted was to release the energy from inside of himself and into the flask as slowly as possible, letting it sit exposed and thus, producing cold for as long as possible. 

After taking out the glass phial, the prince frowned, then quickly pulled off his shirt. A pattering of gasps rang through the crowd, but no one asked him what he was doing. Besides, it soon became clear. He wrapped the flask loosely in his black shirt and then laid it gently above the girl’s injury. She whimpered, but did not stop him. 

Then the prince freed his magic. Despite himself, Prompto’s breath caught in his throat. Prince Noctis was far more fit than he would have ever expected. The blonde knew a bit about muscles and working out from his new diet regime, and he could tell that these were not the vain muscles that one acquired from hours spent with machines at the gym. These wiry cords of strength came from some type of work, though what physical labor the prince could be doing, Prompto had no idea. But the prince laid his bare hand over the flask and the girl, and a moment later, a ripple of shining blue color crawled down his arm. He pursed his lips in concentration, the ripple growing stronger. 

It arced like lightening, then shot towards the flask. Cursing under his breath, Noctis made the arc slow down into a slight but steady trickle. The concentration this task required was clear. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his fingers shook. But it was working. 

The arcing light glittered, a pool of frost that expanded further the longer he was able to hold it in the open. The air around them began to steam with dissolving frost and dissipating cold. Prompto could see ice crystals crawling across the shirt wrapped flask. The girl, Victoria, watched the process with an enraptured face. Prompto almost thought that the distraction of the sight of the prince using his magic was as helpful as the actual numbing effect of the cold on her injury. 

The boy with the phone interrupted, “This guy Gladio says they’re on their way.” 

Prince Noctis nodded, but did not otherwise acknowledge him. Finally, he seemed to run out of the strange blue energy. The flask remained glowing, the swirling energies inside a sharp blue as he unwrapped it to look at his handiwork. It still seemed to be producing cold as he laid it back down over her leg and asked, voice almost formal, “Does that feel better, Victoria?” 

Her face was bright red, but she nodded profusely. “Yes, Prince Noctis,” she replied, using his title in a way not many of the students normally did. The prince reached over and took her hand in his own. The sight of that did something strange and painful to young Prompto’s stomach, and he swallowed again. But the prince merely put her hand over the flask, clearly intending her to hold it herself. “Don’t let it fall,” he warned. “If it breaks, it’ll hurt you. Just give it back to me when the ambulance gets here.” With that, the prince dragged his shirt back over his head, letting his eyes finally meet the crowd that had gathered around them. 

It was like a breaking spell. Whatever energy that had possessed the prince shattered away, leaving an awkward child behind. Noctis’s face blossomed bright red, and he seemed to curl in on himself. 

The next person who pushed through the crowd was a teacher. She began to steer the students away from the macabre scene, calling for order and obedience. Prompto had no choice but to be led away, his last sight of Noctis, the prince standing alone as the other retreating children gave him a wide berth. 

*** 

Three years later, Prompto Argentum was still useless. Absolutely useless. He had wanted so badly to be accepted by Noctis and his two closest friends, but he had never really thought about what such acceptance might mean, or the true price of being close to royalty. 

Because he knew that Noctis was in no position to fight anyone right now. He might not understand exactly how Noctis’s royal magic worked, but it seemed to involve severe ups and downs, periods of strength and then debilitating weakness. And the prince was clearly in the midst of one of his weaker periods. Yet Noctis had thrust Prompto behind himself without a second thought, his mouth bared in a battle rictus, the pressure of magic exuding from him like a haze of smoke. The prince of Lucis had jumped forward to fight a battle alone, one he was unlikely to win, all in order to give Prompto a chance to escape. 

It wasn’t right. But still, Prompto complied with the instructions Noctis had given him. He punched the elevator door, his last sight of Noctis the prince’s weapon spearing a man through the chest, before Prompto was enveloped in the silence of the descending metal box. Gladio remained slumped against the back wall. As Prompto’s heart thundered in his chest, he heard the Shield muttering under his breath. “Quit it, Noct. So fucking loud. Tryin’ to fuckin’ sleep.” 

So, Gladio was still completely out of it, and thus, no help at all right now. Well, it wasn’t like Prompto was any more useful than a passed out Gladio. 

It was difficult to look towards the door. The Crownsguard was still laying there in an ever growing puddle of blood, but Prompto made himself peer out as the door opened to reveal the empty parking garage. 

Gods, it was so hard to think. What should he do? He clutched his phone in his trembling hands. He should call for help. That seemed like something helpful and important. Squeezing his eyes briefly shut, he ignored the vision of the dead Crownsguard and stepped out of the elevator. The doors began to close behind him, and he swore, snapping slightly out of his daze as he rushed backward to shove his hand in between the doors. Noctis had told him to abandon Gladio, but that seemed unthinkable. The Shield was completely helpless right now. Leaving him behind was as good as leaving him to die. 

Instead, Prompto held his phone out as far away from the elevator as he could. He almost dropped the damn thing. It was so hard to control his fingers and press the right buttons. But he managed and waited on the dial tone. 

_Nothing._ A message popped up: No signal. 

Dammit, what was he supposed to do now? The lack of phone signal was probably because he was in the basement. If he wanted to call for help, he’d have to leave the building. But that would mean abandoning Gladio and Noctis. The prince could already be gravely injured or even dead for all he knew. Noctis had said there was some sort of safe room near the elevator. But Prompto couldn’t go there without Gladio. Could he drag the Shield there? How long would that take? 

Suddenly, Gladio twitched behind him. He grunted, then shouted something inarticulate. Meanwhile, the doors tried to close again, and Prompto stopped them. He stared as the Shield seemed to gain some consciousness back for the first time since the blonde had seen him in the back of the Crownsguard car. Gladio’s limbs jerked, almost like he was having a seizure or perhaps a terrible dream, then his eyes flashed open. “Noctis,” he gasped. 

Prompto was ashamed at the wave of relief that washed over him at the sight of the alert Shield. Gladio would know what to do. 

But it turned out that Prompto had celebrated too early. As soon as the Shield’s eyes fluttered open, they half closed, and his next words came out slurred. “Noght,” he repeated. Gladio tried to gather his limbs underneath himself, but he failed miserably and collapsed back down. “Wheresh’ Noct,” he demanded. 

Prompto stared at him with wide eyes. Gladio kicked out a leg, banging into Prompto’s abandoned book bag. 

_You have to make a decision now_ , Prompto told himself sternly. Noctis, his friend, his prince, was counting on him. He stared at Gladio, then at the book bag. 

He had an idea. It was a terrible idea. But it was better than abandoning the most important person in the world and Prompto’s only friend. The blonde gingerly stepped over the body in the elevator doorway, and pressed the button for the lobby with trembling fingers. 

When the doors opened again, Prompto stood holding the flask that Noctis had given him last week. Gladio was behind him still trying to get his feet under himself, demanding to be told what was going on, progressively becoming more and more coherent. 

_And Noctis._ Noctis lay facedown on the ground. A man held a gun to his head. 

Prompto didn’t think any further about what he was doing. Noctis had told him once that, unlike other people, he absorbed elemental energies as one of his royal abilities. What he certainly didn’t absorb were bullets to the head. 

To that end, Prompto didn’t actively decide to do it, but suddenly the flask was sailing in an arc towards the group of people surrounding the prince. The blonde had always had good aim, and that was true here too. The flask exploded nearly on top of the prince. 

Prompto had only ever seen Noct’s elemental magic in action one time, and that was in middle school, when the Prince had used his otherworldly gift to create a makeshift cooling pack. That gentle, slow arc of blue light disappearing into the flask was all he had ever seen of his friend’s magic. And thus, when Prompto saw the prince of Lucis lying on the ground with a gun pointed at his head, it didn’t occur to him that the elemental flask could harm his friend like it did other people. Noctis, after all, was different. 

_He was wrong._

The broken flask created a hellscape. Flames engulfed the seven people on the lobby floor. They screamed bloodcurdling shrieks, noises that were inhuman in their torment. The force of the fireball was enough to drive Prompto back into the elevator. He stumbled into Gladio, who cursed and grabbed the back of his shirt. Even as he could barely stand, Gladio tried to pull the blonde teen behind himself and into relative safety. 

But then another fireball ballooned out from the shattered flask, just as powerful as the first, and they both fell, landing on top of each other in a heap. Heat made it difficult to breath. The noise was louder than bullets, enough to make Prompto’s eardrums feel like they were bursting. 

Another fireball, then another. When it was finally over, Prompto could not quite get his limbs to obey him. He shook, ears ringing. Every intake of breath burned painfully. Gladio stood up first. The Shield grunted, yanking the blonde up with himself, his grip on the back of Prompto’s shirt still tight. Prompto almost wished he hadn’t. He did not want to see the damage his actions had caused. 

When things were still good at home, Prompto’s mother had once seared a full pig for the family Christmas dinner. It took hours, and when it was done there sat an entire pig, crisp with a pink and brown layer of cooked meat. 

Cooked people looked remarkably like cooked pig. Prompto was going to be sick. He could feel the bile rising in his throat. The sight was bad enough, but that didn’t even begin to take into account the smell. Prince Noctis lay in the middle of that, facedown. Prompto could see the same bubbling burns down his back as everyone else in the room. _What had he done?_

“Prompto!” Gladio was suddenly pushing him, and Prompto stumbled forward, taken completely unaware. He turned, only to see that Gladio had his hands up in front of him, having taken the brunt of the swing of some sort of bat-like club across the forearms. Three new people had joined the fray, the last one still exiting the stairwell. Before he could decide what to do, the second attacker swung the club thing at Prompto. It hit his jaw with a loud crack, and he went down. 

He could hear Gladio cursing and the distinct crackling sound of electricity, then Gladio went down too. 

Prompto was not allowed to lay on the ground for very long. In his numbed shock, he did not protest as he was hauled up once again and marched over to where Noctis lay. Somehow despite his injuries, the prince managed to rise up on his own, though he swayed dangerously. 

Prompto could only stand there as their attackers used him against his friend, threatening to kill him if Noctis did not surrender. He could only stand there as Noctis finally collapsed, and one of the men leveraged himself under the prince’s shoulder, ignoring the teen’s massive burns. The man dragged Noctis to the elevator, while Prompto was led, gun still pressed against the back of his head. Another three men had appeared in the intervening time, bringing the total up to six. With the six taken out by Prompto’s magic flask, that meant there had been at least a dozen attackers altogether. 

One man raised a gun to Gladio’s head, turning his questioning look towards the man who had threatened Noctis. That man smelled strongly of cigarettes and cologne. Cologne man pursed his lips and looked from the prince to his Shield. 

“What a fucking mess,” he finally said. His deep voice had a strangely soothing quality to it. “The prince is useless like this.” He turned to Prompto then, making the blonde shrink back into the chest of the other man still holding him at gunpoint. Cologne man let out an exasperated breath and added, “The hell, were you trying to kill him?” 

It took Prompto a moment to realize the man was speaking to him, but when he did, he shook his head profusely. His heart was beating out of his chest. The man sighed again and looked back at Gladio. The Shield hung somewhere between passed out and awake, breathing uneven, eyes dazed but open. 

“We take them both with us,” the man finally said. “If the Amicitia heir is already covenanted with the prince, which considering the shit fight they put up, is likely, he might be useful. We take the blonde to control the prince. Then we have one extra hostage to kill to ensure the prince’s cooperation.” With that, he sent out one of the men into the lobby. “They knew the risks, when they signed up for this,” he said. “Make sure they don’t talk, then met us downstairs.” 

The underling nodded and pulled out his gun. Another one kicked Adrian’s corpse away from the elevator and then pressed the button for the garage. 

The men were not gentle with Noctis’s injured body as they dragged him to a waiting van. The prince was shoved in first, then the two hostages. They waited another twenty or so seconds for the one who had been left upstairs to clean up, but then he came racing out the stairwell. He had barely closed the van door when the driver punched the gas, escaping the apartment complex with squealing tires. 

*** 

The group of men were silent for the first few minutes of the drive. Their anxious desire to get clear of the rich part of town was clear. But eventually as factories began to replace lattice work and skyscrapers, cologne man leaned over Gladio. The Shield was silent, mouth a thin line, eyes never leaving the passed out prince. Right in the beginning he had turned to cologne man and demanded, “Don’t you have a potion or something? For god’s sake!” 

He’d gotten a pop on the mouth for his outburst. Now the cologne man gave the Shield an appraising look. “Your prince is dying, Mr. Amicitia. You do know that, right?” 

Prompto could barely get a breath through his mouth. _Dying? It wasn’t possible. How could he be responsible for such harm to his dearest friend?_ _What sort of monster was he, to cause such pain? He had ruined everything._ Fresh tears leaked down his cheeks, making his vision swim. But he didn’t miss the way Gladio’s mouth twitched, how his fists clenched helplessly. 

The cologne man cocked his head. “How long exactly have you been covenanted with your prince?” When Gladio didn’t answer right away, the man added, “Well?” 

Gladio’s eyes flickered to Prompto, then he said gruffly, “Last night.” Allowing himself to speak seemed to break a dam within him. He inhaled a painful breath and begged again, “Please, I don’t believe people as prepared as you don’t have any potions. You wouldn’t have taken him if you wanted him dead. _Please._ ” 

Prompto wondered was exactly they meant by being covenanted to the prince. He thought about Noctis’s words, when asked about Gladio’s odd lethargy. _Magic stuff_ , he had said. Why hadn’t Prompto asked more questions then? What the hell was going on? 

The man only shook his head. “You know as well as I do that potions work best on minor injuries and when used immediately. It would be a waste to use one on him now.” 

Gladio actually growled at that, a low noise in the back of his throat. The man ignored him. “But I have heard of something else, something incredible that I would like to see in action for myself.” His eyes glittered as they held Gladio’s. It was as if the cologne man’s calm veneer was being peeled away to reveal a man burned away from intense, deadly desire. “You could heal him, could you not? I’ve heard that those with _special_ relationships with the king can save their comrades from near certain death.” At that, the man leaned back, leaving a clear path from Gladio to the prince. 

But Gladio hesitated. “I don’t—I don’t know how.” 

The man shrugged, seemingly nonchalant, but he couldn’t hide the frightening intensity of his eyes. “You certainly cannot make him any worse.” 

That, at least, seemed true. Noctis’s breath was starting to whistle and wheeze with effort. If Prompto’s lungs burned from his exposure to the flames from the elevator, then it was a wonder that Noctis could breathe at all. Even worse, where Noct’s oozing back pressed against the side of the van, it was starting to make a mess, smearing blood and fluid against the harsh metal wall. 

Gladio hesitated no longer. He only had eyes for Noct as he crawled to his prince. Gently, like a man at an altar, he pulled the prince towards himself, letting Noct’s lolling head rest against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his prince and closed his eyes. The cologne man watched the display, naked greed in his gaze. 

Gladio narrowed his eyes in concentration. He spoke mostly to himself, “He feels weird. Like I can barely reach him.” Prompto had no idea what that was supposed to mean. 

For a moment nothing happened. The Cologne man frowned, but did not interfere. Then Prompto felt it. A strange pressure. It almost tickled. The pressure pressed outward like a whoosh of air and subsequently faded away. Prompto could not see the prince’s back from where he sat, but he saw one of the more minor burns on his neck almost glow before fading to a dull red. It didn’t disappear completely, but it closed up, protecting the prince’s raw skin from the open air. Noctis coughed, once, twice, and then began to struggle in Gladio’s arms. 

Gladio only clutched him tighter. For a second they fought, Noct’s resistance clearly instinctual, Gladio’s soothing murmur flowing underneath, and then two of the men were dragging the Shield off of Noctis. As he realized who had been holding him, Noctis reached up and tried to clutch at his Shield, but it was too late. They were separated again. Noctis blinked, looking around the cramped van. His eyes widened when he noticed Prompto, then narrowed in unrestrained hatred as he saw the cologne man. 

Cologne man had his cool mask back in place. Almost disinterestedly, he reached down and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it. Prompto coughed, the smoke irritating his abused lungs. “Well, then,” said the cologne man. “Lover boy fixed you right up didn’t he?” 

Noctis bared his teeth. The man only laughed. 

*** 

**Ignis Scientia** 

*** 

Ignis leaned against the hood of the Regalia, his head in his hands. How was it possible that he had formed a connection with his prince less than twenty-four hours ago, and yet the absence thereof was like a stab wound to the heart? For what felt like the thousandth time, he cast his senses out, not quite sure what he was looking for, except that it was _something._

A bit away from him, Clarus was in deep discussion with one of the Crownsguard. “They’ve found the prince’s book bag in the elevator. Nothing but a change of clothes and a camera.” 

Ignis jerked his head up. He knew for a fact that Noctis had left the cabin with nothing but the torn and muddy clothes on his back. 

_Could it be?_

Like a dream, he walked over to the two men. Clarus raised his eyebrow as Ignis approached and silently reached his hand out for the book bag. The backpack was plain black in color, the straps worn and frayed. It could have belonged to any teenager, but Ignis would have recognized the tiny yellow chocobo pin on the shoulder anywhere. The young advisor’s hands trembled as he clutched the worn fabric. “This is not Prince Noctis’s book bag,” he said numbly. 

“Then whose is it?” 

Ignis’s wide eyes met Clarus’s. “It’s Prompto’s.” 

Clarus processed the implications of that information quickly. “Do you think Prompto was with them? When would that have happened?” Clarus demanded. 

Ignis shook his head. “I’m not sure.” He desperately cast his memory back. What would Prompto have been doing on a Sunday morning? “He had track practice, I believe.” 

Ignis was left to his thoughts for a bit longer as Clarus sent someone to find out the last known whereabouts of the blonde teenager. A parade of apartment dwellers had been called down, each one being asked, _did you see something, hear something, anything?_

A Crownsguard came up to them. “We haven’t been able to get in touch with his parents, sir. The neighbors say that they travel quite often, however. It could be that they’re not even in the country.” 

Clarus frowned. “And they left a sixteen-year-old to fend for himself?” 

Ignis vaguely knew about Prompto’s rather sorry home life. “That’s not surprising.” No, what was surprising was that Noctis had picked the blonde up on his way home. Noctis had been so tired. Would he really have chosen to hang out? 

The Crownsguard spoke again. “There also wasn’t a serial number on the magic flask. It wasn’t one of the Crownsguard’s.” 

Ignis and Clarus exchanged a glance. “Noctis?” suggested Ignis. 

“Your guess is as good as mine, probably better.” 

“Wait.” Ignis suddenly took a sharp breath. 

“What?” Clarus’s voice was tight. 

Smartphones were a growing industry in the Crown City. Extraordinarily expensive, most people only had basic flip phones. But Prompto had a Crown cell phone, due to his connection to Noctis. Which meant that his phone was able to be tracked the same way that Noct’s could have been. Noctis had left his cellphone in his room before escaping the Citadel, as had Ignis. It would have been a poor escape had the Crownsguard been able to track them using GPS. Gladio’s phone meanwhile, was still in his bag, which he had inadvertently left with the rest of his stuff at the cabin. Ignis had grabbed it on his way out. But Prompto . . . 

“Where is Prompto’s cell phone?” 

*** 

**Prompto Argentum** 

*** 

They bound Gladio’s wrists and ankles together, but not Noctis’s. Even these people knew there was no real point to that. Instead they assured the prince’s cooperation with a gun to his friend’s head. So far, the tactic was proving most effective. 

“What do you want?” demanded Noctis with all the entitlement of his royal birth. His kidnappers ignored him, and he kicked out a leg in frustration. 

Prompto was still silently crying, despite himself. He hated that weakness. Neither Gladio nor Noctis were sobbing, but he couldn’t make the tears stop. Noctis looked at him after kicking his leg out again and said fiercely, “It’s going to be okay, Prompto. I promise you, I’m going to get you out this.” Gladio remained silent. Prompto could only shake his head and wipe his nose piteously. 

All the sudden, a ringtone began to play. 

For a second, Prompto couldn’t comprehend. The sound of the chocobo song did not belong in this van with these terrible people. But there it was. Then he realized, watching the dawning horror on Noct’s face, that the noise was coming from the blonde’s own pants. It was _his_ ringtone. 

A long pause, then everyone was moving at once. Someone shouted at Noctis to remain where he was or the blonde was gonna get a bullet in the brain. The cologne man lunged, rocking the van nauseatingly. He tackled Prompto, and the blonde shrieked in terror. 

“Well, well. Blondie’s got some guts after all,” the man said nastily, holding up the cellphone. The number that flashed on the front was one Prompto did not recognize. The gun against the back of his head tightened, and Prompto whimpered. He could see Noctis, eyes shining with desperation behind the cologne man. Was that going to be his last sight? 

With surprising force, the man dashed Prompto’s phone against the side of the van. The screen cracked. He took his gun and smashed the butt hard into the increasingly damaged cellphone. It caved in against the force of his thrust with a massive cracking noise. He did it again and again until there was nothing left but a twisted heap of glass and metal. Then he opened the back door to the whipping wind and tossed the offending item onto the road. Prompto got a glimpse of the city turnpike before the door closed again. 

The man took a deep breath. “Does anyone else have anything they want to give up? This is your last chance.” 

The three captives remained deathly silent. 

“Right.” The cologne man picked up his discarded gun. He moved closer to Prompto. The blonde tried to shrink away, but he had nowhere to go. Despite himself he began to babble. “I forgot I had it, honest. Please.” 

The man smiled genially. “I believe you,’ he said. “What’s your name again?” 

Prompto barely got the words out. “Prompto. My name is Prompto.” 

“Right, right. The prince said that earlier.” The man paused. He cocked his head consideringly. Prompto remained frozen. Then the man raised his gun, and shoved it abruptly into the blonde’s face. 

Stars burst across his vision, and heat radiated from some point on his nose to the rest of his face. All the sudden, it was almost impossible to breathe. Noctis was shouting again, the van shaking from his struggling. 

Prompto couldn’t stop his sobbing even though the heaving movement was sending ringing stabs of pain through his head. He hiccupped and watched as the cologne man turned back to face Noctis. The man didn’t try to speak over the shouting prince, but his words were clear nonetheless. “Prince Noctis, I believe you have come to understand that we require you for a purpose for which we need you alive. This is true. But both of these men are more than expendable. So from now on, think very, very carefully about your actions. Do you understand me?” 

Noctis did not disguise his hatred. “Yes,” he spat. “I understand you perfectly.” 

“Good.” The man looked from one to the other. Prompto clutched at his bleeding noise. One of his eyes was already starting to swell oddly. To Noctis, the man added, “Would you like to heal him as well? I would allow it.” 

Now wariness battled with confusion on Noctis’s face. “What?!” he demanded. 

Gladio interrupted harshly. “Prompto isn’t a retainer to the Crown, you monster! He’s a fucking teenager! He’s got nothing to do with any of this.” 

The man considered this. “Well, I suppose that’s too bad. We’ll give him a towel or something when we get back to base.” 

The van once again sank into silence after that. At some point the driver reached over and flicked on a small radio looking device. It was full of odd wires and seemed homemade. However, the instant it was on, the clear commanding voice of Clarus rang out. “Ten-four. Guard Florence, what’s the status on the west barricade?” 

Gladio jerked and hissed at the sound of his father’s voice. The cologne man grinned a knowing grin at him. 

Prompto wondered how long it had taken the Citadel to learn of their kidnapping. It was almost too painful to hope for rescue. If he let himself think too much, he was going to break down. His nose and cheek still throbbed with hot, wet pain. The front of his shirt was soaked red from the nose bleed. He tried not to look too closely at the blood stain, but it was difficult. 

As the radio noise of the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive continued, it became clear that these men had somehow found a way to hack the private Crown radio channels. They used that information to cleverly avoid the barricades, driving down side streets in a winding zigzagging path, until the van finally came to a stop. 

“Alright ladies,” said the cologne wearing man. “Rise and shine.” 

They were inside of an abandoned factory building. The van had been driven into a large open area, several stories tall with high arcing windows that let in yellowed, greasy light. There were five or six door along the walls in every direction. Dust and abandoned tools lay scattered. 

One of the men kicked Prompto in the shins when he took too long to stare at his surroundings. He glared at the man, but kept walking. Noctis and Gladio followed, Gladio having to move in an awkward shuffling motion within his restraints. 

A few feet from the van, both Gladio and Prompto were shoved down to their knees. Noctis tensed up, but kept his gaze on the man still holding a gun to Prompto’s back. The cologne man pulled out another cigarette. “Prince Noctis, if you would please come with me.” 

Gladio tried to rise up, only to be roughly shoved back down with the butt of a weapon. The Shield barely seemed to notice the assault, his eyes locked on his prince. For the first time since he had healed his prince, he looked more terrified than enraged. Prompto gulped. 

“What do you want?” demanded Noctis, renewed wariness threading his words. 

The man blew a puff of his cigarette. “Come with me and I’ll tell you.” 

Noctis’s gaze slid to his Shield. “My ears work just fine right here.” 

The man raised a brow. “Well, okay then.” 

Noctis shifted uncomfortably, clearly surprised by how easily the man had given in. “Look—,” he began. 

“Call me Tom,” the man interrupted. “You asked me earlier what I wanted.” 

“And that’s to call you Tom?” 

Both Gladio and Prompto grimaced at the glib answer. But the cologne man didn’t seem bothered. “Well yes,” he replied, letting out another large puff of smoke. “But you know that’s not everything. I want what all men who are trapped in an untenable position want.” 

“And what’s that?” 

The cologne man, Tom, almost seemed surprised. “The power to free myself, of course.” 

“You want power,” Noctis repeated flatly. “What exactly are you saying?” 

“Exactly what I meant. You have power. Power hoarded among the few. I want it.” 

Noctis suddenly turned and stared at Prompto for some reason. His gaze was unreadable. Prompto tried to smile, but the effect must have been ruined by the state of his face, because Noctis grimaced in dismay and swiveled back to Tom. 

“The Covenant. You’re talking about the Covenant.” 

Next to Prompto, Gladio let out a sharp breath. Prompto looked at him. The Shield appeared horrified, his eyes wide, his mouth working up and down like he was trying to speak and finding himself completely unable. 

Noctis, in contrast, was a statue. Prompto had never seen him look so empty, so far away. His eyes were a dull blue. 

“You catch on quick, Prince Noctis,” the man replied with an unconcerned chuckle. “You see; this doesn’t have to be a bad experience. I promised I wasn’t here to hurt you, and I meant it. Form a Covenant with a few of my men. Grant them your magic, and we will set you free. It’s that simple.” 

Prompto knew he didn’t quite understand the context of what was happening. But he knew it had to be bad to create that sort of response in Noctis and Gladio. 

_We have to do something, and it’s—complicated._ Wasn’t that what Noctis had said about him, Gladio, and Ignis? And then Gladio was sick with _‘magic stuff.’_ Had he been talking about forming these Covenants? Was that how the Kingsglaive and Crownsguard received their powers? Prompto wondered why he had never thought about it before, how the Kingsglaive actually got their magic powers. They clearly came from the king. It wasn’t like they were born with it. Was it a painful procedure? That would explain how exhausted Gladio had seemed. What did it mean then, to grant these powers to strangers? 

Wax would have looked more lifelike than Noctis’s face in that moment. 

Gladio chose then to speak up, voice husky with barely contained emotion. “You know what you have to do, Noct.” 

The man who had been standing behind the Shield backhanded him hard across the head. Gladio let out a pained grunt, but nothing more. Noctis did not even turn to look at him, his dull eyes locked with the cologne man’s. 

Prompto felt the tension like an oppressive blanket, smothering him and making it impossible to think. There was obviously a conversation going on below the surface with these men, but he didn’t have the skills to follow it. He could only sit here, his life a weapon to use against his friends. 

Noctis swallowed loudly, the sound echoing out in the apprehensive silence. His fists clenched, then relaxed. He whispered his answer, so quiet that Prompto barely caught it. 

“No. I won’t do that.” 

“Then I kill the blonde first." 

*** 

**Ignis Scientia** 

*** 

Ignis watched the computer screen with a pounding heart. He was back in the Regalia, Clarus driving, and the king next to him. The king held a laptop, a map and blinking dot pulled up on the screen. _Prompto’s GPS signal._

It moved steadily for a while, but then it blinked out of existence. Now they had its last location pulled up, somewhere on the city turnpike. That entire section of the turnpike was already shut down, and Crownsguard had been sent to comb the area. 

Earlier, while they were waiting on the technical support to find Prompto’s GPS location, Ignis had felt a sudden stirring in his stomach. It felt like the drop of an adrenaline rush, but somehow cleaner. He blinked and closed his eyes. 

_Noctis._

He didn’t know if he said something out loud or if the king had simply been watching him, but suddenly there was a gnarled arm on his shoulder and demanding eyes searching his own. 

“I think—I feel him again.” Ignis kept his eyes closed, trying to concentrate. He could feel the flickering thread again, but it wasn’t shrieking at him like before. It wasn’t calling him. He said as much, and opened his eyes again. 

“Earlier, I think I could have led you to him, but now—.” 

The king dragged a hand over his eyes. “It is likely that Noct is no longer in mortal peril. The magic of retainers will not call you to him unless that is the case.” 

It was both a good and a troubling thing. Without that sense, the had lost one more way of finding the prince. But at least Ignis was sure he wasn’t lying dead somewhere. He clutched tightly at the feeling of that pulsing thread of connection at the thought. 

They arrived at the last known location of the GPS, but what had happened was already clear. A Kingsglaive grimly held the broken remains of a cellphone in his hands. 

_Another dead end._ The only thing they had learned with this was that Prompto was most likely indeed with Noctis. It wasn’t as if the teenager would have destroyed his cellphone of his own volition. 

_Where are you?_

*** 

**The Spy** 

*** 

Two men stood off to the side of the crime scene investigation at the prince’s apartment building. They were hidden by the curve of the alleyway. One had a strong jaw line and brilliant blue eyes. The stars on his crisp uniform suggested a high rank. The other man was smaller, both in stature and in presence. 

“That was a close one,” hissed the smaller man. “You said you had it under control.” 

“I tire of your blubbering, Glaive Constance,” replied the larger man. With a sigh, he snapped the flip phone he had been holding shut. The phone was cheaply made and clearly new. “They don’t need to escape the city, and the king wastes his time trying to cut off their escape routes. They only need to hold the prince long enough to complete their task.” 

“What if the chamberlain is able to find them?” 

“As long as they don’t harm the prince any further, that shouldn’t be a problem. It’s a soul bond, not a trail of bread crumbs. And the longer this takes, the more the bond settles and ultimately weakens.” 

The smaller man nodded, seemingly satisfied. With that, the larger man dropped the phone and proceeded to ground it into tiny pieces. 

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning: The kidnappers in this chapter reveal that their plan is to force Noctis to Covenant with them so that they can have access to his power. Since this requires sex, the consent problems are clear. I want to treat this issue with respect and seriousness, just like i have tried to do in my previous fic. However, I understand that not everyone wants to read that sort of story, and I totally understand if this is not your cup of tea. Everyone has to take care of themselves. 
> 
> **On a lighter note, I loved the comments about the friendly fire in the previous chapter. You people have some serious unresolved issues with the magic system in this game. Though to be fair, after setting my party on fire for the eight time in a row, I really thought there should be a short dialogue scene where Ignis takes away all of my magic flasks for my own good. 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos. Ya'lls support makes my day. :)


	3. Not For Ourselves Were We Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis must choose between his friends and his duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning for explicit violence. There is a short torture scene and threats of non-con. The violence and non con are explained further in the end note if you feel like any of it may be a problem for you. If you don't want to read this chapter, I will write up a little summary and put it in the chapter note at the beginning of the next chapter when I post it. 
> 
> **Also I decided that Niflheim speaks German because the name sounds vaguely Germanic (I know it's Norse) and I speak German, so it's a win win to have them speaking another language. 
> 
> ***Overall, this is the most intense this story will get, violence wise. Enjoy.

*** 

**Noctis Lucis Caelum** 

*** 

Noctis was hollow, his mind as still and cold as the glass surface of a lake. 

“Then I kill the blonde first,” said the man who called himself Tom. He said it so calmly, like he was announcing his dinner plans. 

And poor, brave Prompto. Noctis saw how the blonde teen’s face, still covered in a dripping layer of blood, went white as a sheet where the skin was visible. He didn’t shout or cry out, but he trembled ever so slightly. 

_You know what you have to do, Noct._

No one could force Noctis to give his magic where he did not wish. Not physically at least. He had to choose to set it free, to let it suffuse his body and weave a connection with another. Giving that magic to a stranger was like pressing a knife against his own throat. Those bound to him had a sort of power over him. They could sense him, read his physical state in battle, or leech magic from him. Once created, such a connection could only be severed through death. 

_You know what you have to do, Noct._

Prompto was one person. And Gladio had been born to give his life for his prince. Noctis’s life did not have the same value as everyone else’s, and that was not arrogance to say that. _Let them die,_ said a voice in his head that sounded like all the Lucian council members. It was his duty to let them die. His duty to always choose the crown above anything else. It was what Gladio had meant, when he said those words. Noct’s magic could not be allowed to fall into enemy hands. 

The cologne wearing man (Noctis struggled to think of him with as mundane of a name as Tom) raised his gun and pointed it at Prompto. It was a bit pointless, since another man had been holding a gun to the blonde’s back this entire time. 

Prompto was silently crying again, tears leaking in streaks, turning the blood on his face pink and washed out. 

Noctis felt nothing. He was a hollow, broken thing, and this past hour had carved away everything good inside of him. All that was left was a vision of Guard Adrian, arms spread wide, knowing he was going to die. A corpse, laid out at his post, his blood pooling, and burning flesh. The smell of it. 

_You know what you have to do, Noct._

The cologne man had his gun pointed at Prompto, but his eyes were on Noctis. Without looking back, he said, “Hold him down.” Neither Noctis nor Gladio made a noise as Prompto was forced down to his knees. Noctis did not move, but he did not look away either. He could not believe what was happening, and thus, couldn’t seem to make himself react. 

Was he really going to let this man shoot his best friend? 

_No._ He couldn’t. He had promised Prompto that he was going to get the blonde out of this safely. But at the same time, he couldn’t seem to move or speak either. He had to _do_ something, not just stand there like an imbecile. Doing nothing was as good as letting Prompto die. 

But the man called Tom did not shoot Prompto while Noctis stood frozen. Instead, one his lackeys handed him a pair of pliers. When Gladio saw this, his expression grew queasy and horrified, and he turned his head slightly to the side. Noctis still did not quite understand what was happening. 

Until he did. 

The cologne man undid Prompto’s restraints and grabbed his hand roughly, forcing him to splay his palm out. The man took the blonde teen’s smallest finger and then held the pliers to his nail. At that, Noctis finally broke free of his stupor and rushed forward. However, the men were expecting it, and two of them grabbed him by the arms, holding him back. He tried to call his magic, yet it was still dead to him. Instead, he struggled like a mad thing, howling and kicking and biting. He was too weak and exhausted to do any damage. 

The sound Prompto made when the cologne man pulled off his fingernail was unearthly. It did not belong to a human being. It was not even the sound a dying creature makes, because Prompto was not dying. Rather, it spoke to unceasing and inescapable pain, the tune of torture. 

Noctis screamed vile things at the man called Tom, cursing and threatening. It had no effect. 

The man took a long time to turn back to Noctis, but when he did, he raised his brow as if to challenge Noctis, holding the bloody fingernail in his hand. 

“Please stop this,” Noctis begged, heedless of anything else. Meanwhile, Prompto was making awful, wretched noises. 

“Only you have the power to stop this,” said the man pitilessly, and he turned back to Prompto. Despite his helplessness, the blonde began to struggle again, unable to stop himself from attempting to escape his fate. 

“I’ll do it,” Noctis shouted, refusing to look at Gladio. In the end, what he _must_ do and what he _could_ do were two very different things. 

The man grabbed Prompto’s bleeding, jerking hand. He raised the pliers. “I said I’ll do it. Stop it!” Noctis grew louder and more emphatic as he was ignored. “Just stop it! I’ll do! I’ll do it!” 

Prompto screamed again as the cologne man tore off a second fingernail. 

Noctis, who had at one point in his life been paralyzed from the waist down, had never felt more helpless than he did in that moment. Which he suspected was the point Tom was trying to make. “Please! Just—stop hurting him.” 

The man tossed the second finger nail to the floor. He turned and walked back to stand in front of Noctis. “Cooperate, and I won’t have to. Remember that.” 

“I’m trying to cooperate!” 

“No, you _were_ trying to be a hero. Now that you’ve realized what you’re able to bear and what you’re not, _now_ you’re cooperating.” The man cocked his head consideringly. “I was going to set up a nice room for you. But I think at this point I don’t trust you to behave without a couple of guns pointed at your friends.” 

Noctis struggled to comprehend, his thoughts still stuck on the sound of Prompto screaming. The man continued speaking. “Really I don’t see how this is any different from how you were expecting to use your magic through the Crown. You were always going to whore yourself out, don’t kid yourself. Unless you were planning on choosing every Kingsglaive recruit yourself?” 

“The Kingsglaive use their power to protect people. It couldn’t be more different,” snarled Gladio from where he was still pressed on his knees. 

Tom’s voice curled mockingly. “Couldn’t it,” he replied, and it wasn’t a question. 

Noctis interrupted suddenly. “Set Prompto free. Set him free and I’ll do whatever you want.” He tried to ignore how the man’s words had made shame curl through his stomach, despite his knowledge that they had been designed to do that, designed to hurt. _Words are weapons,_ his father had told him once, but even knowing that purpose didn’t mitigate their damage. 

“Don’t make me pull out more fingernails. You’ll form a Covenant with whom I tell you to, then I’ll set you all free. Just like I promised.” 

Noctis couldn’t tear his gaze away from his two friends, both on their knees with guns pressed to the back of their heads. Prompto’s face was mottled and swollen with bruises from where Tom had beaten him with the butt of the gun, and the raw skin under his missing nails glistened sickeningly. “It’s not that easy,” Noctis hesitantly started, praying that the cologne man would not take his words as resistance. “It takes a lot of magical energy for me to form a Covenant, energy I don’t exactly have right now.” 

He was disrupted by the sound of squealing metal on metal and the bang of a door. He watched as two of the men came through one of the side doors, carrying a metal cot. They dragged it across the vast floor, finally coming to rest beside Noctis and the others. 

Tom waved at an underling. “Get the supplies.” He turned back to Noct, saying unconcernedly, “We thought about that. Don’t worry about the logistics. All you have to do is form the actual Covenant.” 

When the underling came back, he was carrying a nondescript duffle bag. He dumped it upside down at their feet, and several glass phials of various medical remedies rolled out. 

“Those came from the Citadel.” Gladio glared at the pile. Peering closer, Noctis realized he was right. There were the little serial numbers that all citadel approved magical flasks and phials carried. These were magic replenishing ethers specially made for the Kingsglaive. 

“Drink,” commanded Tom, and so Noctis did. There didn’t seem to be any point in telling the man that the ether would help him regain his magic back, true enough, but it would do little for the Crystal induced exhaustion that plagued Noctis afterwards. That was why Gladio never used them when they were training. Better to let Noctis’s body naturally tell them when he was done as opposed to pushing him unsustainably. These people did not seem to have the same concerns, however. 

Noctis sensed the connection between himself and the Crystal strengthen almost instantaneously as he swallowed the ether down in one gulp. It felt like the reaching of an old friend, like someone saying, _oh there you are._ Despite the context, Noctis leaned into the feeling, savoring it. Gladio lifted his eyes from the floor and watched Noctis, eyes piercing and hard. With the return of his magic, Noctis could once again feel the threads twisting through each of his retainers, the feeling of Gladio particularly strong, probably because he was right there. 

“Woman or man?” Tom demanded brusquely, tearing Noctis’s attention back to himself. The man’s grip on the gun tightened, making Noctis realize that these people weren’t quite sure how much power the ether had given him back. They were nervous. 

“What?” Noctis asked. 

Tom’s voice remained terse. “Do you want a woman or a man? We have both.” 

Noctis just stared at him blankly. This couldn’t actually be real. Gladio and Prompto were next to him, both with a man at their back. Two more people stood next to the bed, one by the van, and then Tom in front of Noctis. Did he really expect Noctis to do this with all of these people watching? 

“I—.” 

“Oh, by the Six. You’re going to make every bit of this difficult aren’t you?” 

“I don’t—.” Noctis still had not found his words. He felt sick to his stomach. Numb and empty. 

Tom shook his head, and motioned one of the men forward. _No_ , Noctis saw as she removed her mask. _A woman._ Probably in her twenties, brown eyes and a smattering of freckles. Noctis noticed all of this in a faraway sort of manner. “Well,” said Tom, “If you won’t pick, we’ll go with a woman first, shall we? Less prep to worry about.” He chuckled at that. 

The woman seemed less amused. She looked Noctis up and down with cold eyes. _“Tom,”_ she said, and the emphasis she put on the name suggested that it wasn’t what she normally called the cologne man. “I understand the necessity of how this Covenant is formed. You’ve explained it well enough. But must we do it like dogs out in the open? I’m not here to put a show on for these bastards,” she said, pointing at the other men around her. Several shifted uncomfortably. 

Tom frowned sympathetically. “I understand it’s uncomfortable, Sylvia, truly. It’s not my first choice either. But we only have rumors and vague ideas of how exactly this covenant is formed. I’ve heard it’s an incredible burst of magic. With no idea what to expect, I want everyone available to control the situation if necessary.” With those words, he held out his hand to her. 

She looked at it, then his face, and said bluntly, “So I’m to be lab rat and a show, then?” 

He was equally blunt. “Yes.” 

Another long breath passed, then she shook her commander’s hand. “Enjoy the show, you Fucks,” she said as she faced her companions again, refusing to be cowed or shamed. “But don’t forget, I’ll enjoy myself equally well watching you.” 

At another time and place, Noctis might have enjoyed and admired her tenacity. But right now all he could feel was a pooling dread than began in the pit of his stomach and radiated outwards. 

Behind Noctis, Prompto’s voice was quiet, but the prince still caught his words to Gladio. “What’s going on, Glad? I don’t understand. If I didn’t know better—.” 

Noctis’s stomach curled in on itself. He refused to look back at his friend’s faces. He didn’t want to know what he would find on Gladio’s face. Still, he heard Gladio’s gruff reply. “I’m so sorry, Prompto.” Gladio said each word clearly, giving each syllable time to settle before the next. “Forgive us.” 

“What?” asked the blonde, but Gladio didn’t give a further reply, or at least, Noctis didn’t hear it. 

Without further prompting, the woman, Sylvia, began to undress. She left her bra on, but everything else went to a pile next to the cot. Noctis felt nothing as he watched her. Tom did not watch her, but rather Noctis, his expression avid. When she was done, Sylvia sat on the edge of the cot. “How do you want me?” She asked the question without emotion, her eyes unflinching. 

Noctis remained mute and unmoving. There was a roaring in his ears, and everything felt gray and far away. Any minute now, he was going to wake up. Any minute now, his father would burst through the door in a swirl of magic and descend upon these people with the fury of the twelve ancient Lucian Kings at his back. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. 

Tom sighed. “I think you’re going to have to help him, Syl. Poor thing doesn’t know what to do with himself.” Several snickers rang out from the gathered men. Noctis saw Gladio clench his fists from the corner of his eye. 

The cologne man motioned toward Noctis as if to reach for the prince’s pants. Before the man could reach him, Noctis flinched away, his body moving almost without input from his brain. He felt his heart rate increase dramatically. 

_No!_ Some powerful part of his mind rebelled. “No,” he repeated out loud, his breath hitching. 

Tom narrowed his eyes. “You’re making this far more difficult than it needs to be, and it’s starting to get old. Just tell me what you need to do to get in the mood. As long as it’s reasonable we have no problem accommodating you.” 

Before Noctis could reply to that, Gladio spoke. “Let me,” he said, boldly raising his head to meet Tom’s eyes. “Please.” He swallowed and added in a strained voice, “I—know him. I can—get him—just let me. Please.” 

Noctis was going to cry. “Gladio,” he said dumbly. It wasn’t enough. 

Gladio kept his eyes on the cologne man, ignoring his prince. “Please,” he repeated. On his knees, he was the perfect image of sublimation. 

Tom chuckled, and Noctis was struck by the revelation that this man wanted more than simple power, despite his words. He liked watching them suffer, and he reveled in their humiliation. Every act he had committed so far had that aspect twisted through it, torturing Prompto, demanding that Noctis perform the ritual in front of all the gathered men. Despite his placating words to Sylvia, it all spoke to his need to break his captives. Noctis wondered if Gladio had sensed that in their captor as well. 

“I suppose you do have—experience,” Tom said eventually. He waved his hand, and the man behind Gladio backed up a few steps, lifting his gun. As he undid Gladio’s restraints, he warned, “Of course, any funny business, and your friend over there goes poof. You understand me?” 

“I understand you,” Gladio affirmed in a voice shaped like the pure distillation of hatred. As Tom backed away, the Shield clambered stiffly to his feet. Walking to his prince, his gait was ginger and uncertain. Had they harmed him more than Noctis had realized? Or was he still so weak from the ritual? 

Noctis stood trembling as Gladio came to a halt in front of him. The Shield left almost no space in between their bodies, torso to torso. Everyone, even Tom, kept silent as Gladio took a moment to stare searchingly into Noct’s eyes. 

Noctis did not want to be touched by Gladio. Not here, not like this. He didn’t think he wanted to be touched by anyone ever again. But Gladio did not reach for his pants like Tom had. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Noctis tightly and squeezed. Gladio lowered his face into the crook of Noct’s neck, taking a deep lungful of air. Noct’s hair lifted briefly, tickling him. 

His face hidden, Gladio murmured, “I’m so sorry, Noct. I’m so fucking sorry.” His arms tightened even further with his words, like he could squeeze the truth of them into his charge with his sheer force of will. 

“This isn’t your fault, Gladio. You didn’t do this.” 

Gladio did not answer him, and with that silence, some instinct worked its way through the back of Noct’s mind. It was like the whisper of the Crystal in the depths of his thoughts, just as subtle. But this was not magic. This instinct came from eight years of friendship with a man whose most enduring quality was in how predictable he was. 

Noctis stiffened and tried to push Gladio off of himself, but it was already too late. He felt it, like the pull of a fish hook on his senses. Noctis was aware of Gladio using his magic in the same way he was aware of himself. He could even distinguish which weapon the Shield yanked out of the arsenal, a huge greatsword that both of their practice weapons were based on and thus, one Gladio was intimately familiar with. 

“You can't,” Noctis shouted even as sparks coalesced around Gladio’s sword hand, tumbling and swirling into the shape of a weapon. How could Gladio risk Prompto like that?! But even as he thought it, Noctis knew the answer. Gladio saw his duty to Noctis as above anything else. He’d be sorry for it later, but he’d still do what he thought he must. 

Gladio ignored him. “Go!” he commanded with all the force that came from eight years of being Noct’s instructor. 

Noctis heard gunfire, but he was already swinging around, intent on getting to Prompto. A man held a gun to the blonde’s head, fist in the back of the blonde’s shirt, and his eyes were wildly darting towards his leader. He was clearly afraid to do anything without the say so of the cologne man. 

Prompto started to climb to his feet, struggling with the shackles on his ankles, but the man behind him shoved at him. The blonde twisted around as he was pushed back down, hands clasping the man’s grip on his gun. 

“Shoot the spare!” The deep sound of Tom’s voice was unmistakable. Noctis saw the man’s eyes meet Prompto’s from behind his gun, and then with heart stopping horror, he saw the man squeeze the trigger. 

*** 

**Prompto Argentum** 

*** 

Whatever was going on with this covenant stuff Prompto was beginning to think despite his better judgement, that it had to be sexual. This wasn’t the best time to be pervy, but it was the only explanation his mind could come up with as the woman stripped and sat at the edge of the cot. Gladio had not answered his questions earlier, choosing instead to apologize for some reason, and so Prompto was left with nothing but his wild conjectures. 

As the Shield offered himself and stood in front of Noctis, Prompto could only watch and wonder just what the hell all of this meant. It was truly beginning to feel like the prelude to a rape, despite all of his better sensibilities saying there was no way that magic powers could be granted through sex. That literally made no sense. 

Gladio buried his face in Noctis’s neck and whispered something Prompto couldn’t hear. Then he raised his head and stared at Prompto. For one of the longest seconds of his life, Prompto was aware that Gladio was desperately trying to tell him something with his eyes, something that Prompto could not read, and then everything turned to chaos. 

It took Prompt far too long to realize that Gladio had decided to resist their captors despite the threat against Prompto and himself. Then, once he understood what was going on, he also realized that the man holding him hostage was going to have to shoot him if these people wanted to gain any sort of control back. 

The blonde teen twisted quickly, trying to get to his feet, feeling any second that he was going hear the blast of a gunshot before entering enteral oblivion. The man struggled with him for a second, but then they all heard the command of the man in charge. 

“Shoot the spare!” 

Prompto faced his captor, and he saw how the command traveled across the man’s countenance and how his eyes hardened into action. With the thoughtless strength of a man battling for his life, Prompto gripped and yanked on the man’s gun. 

The sound of the gun going off deafened him. He felt the bullet ripple through the air, its radiating force a physical thing. All his thoughts died from the sheer, rattling power of the blast so close to his ears. 

_I’ve been shot!_

But he hadn’t. There was no accompanying pain. The bullet must have gone past his ear. His opponent blinked, recovering from the shot far faster than Prompto. He renewed his struggle with the teen, trying to get another shot off. 

The gun rang out again, and again it missed the teen. 

It was an accident more than anything when Prompto lost his balance from his shackled ankles and collapsed to the floor. However, with his death grip on the man’s gun still strong, he dragged the man down with him. The man tried to stop his fall, probably on instinct. Bracing himself with his palms, he lost his grip on the gun. Prompto too, let the weapon clatter away from his hands, the sudden lack of tension from the other man’s grip breaking his own hold. 

Wasting no time, Prompto’s opponent cocked a fist back and slammed it into Prompto’s face. White light swam across the blonde’s vision. The punch compounded with his earlier injury to form an almost unbearable pain. It stunned him, leaving him helpless. 

But then the man cried out, blood spattering across Prompto’s face and shirt front. Noctis stood above them, his sword dug deeply into the man’s backside. The prince’s face was flecked with blood, his eyes gone nearly purple in his rage. He didn’t stop to speak to Prompto, instead raising his eyes and stepping over his prone friend. Faster than the blonde could comprehend, a shield formed in Noctis’s hand, bigger and heavier than the one he had earlier produced in the elevator. 

Noctis crouched and raised the shield just as a spray of bullets hit them. The prince braced himself, barely holding the shield steady. 

As they were peppered with gunfire, Prompto stared out across the open floor at the chaos all around them. About fifteen feet away, Gladio battled three men. One of them shot at him with a rifle, but he raised his broadsword across his body defensively, and the bullets glanced off. Then Gladio lunged forward while man tried to reload, spearing his body like a meat cleaver. 

Away from the four battling opponents, Tom stood next to Sylvia. They were the ones who had been shooting at Prompto and Noctis. Together the three groups of combatants formed a loose triangle in the open factory floor. 

The mostly naked woman held a gun against her shoulder. She also paused to reload, but Tom put his arm in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. 

While Prompto had been watching Tom and Sylvia, Gladio killed another man and was competently battering away at the third. “Gladio!” shouted Noctis. 

Prompto changed his gaze again, only to see Noctis racing forward. Another second, and he understood. Gladio had his back turned from Tom and Sylvia, and so they had decided to stop shooting at Noctis and Prompto and focus on the Shield instead. 

Noctis threw his sword, disappearing in an implosion of sparks just as the woman took aim at Gladio. Her shot rang out. One of Gladio’s knees crumpled underneath himself as Noctis reappeared. The prince stumbled forward, screaming, “Noo!” 

She shot again, but this time it grazed just past the prince. A warning. He stopped dead a few feet in front of his Shield. Turning back to face Tom and Sylvia, he snarled, brandishing his sword impotently. Gladio crouched, hissing but otherwise silent, clearly trying to gather his wits back together again. 

The man Gladio had been fighting raised his gun as well, and together, he and Sylvia encircled the prince and his Shield, closing in the distance. Tom followed behind his subordinate, Prompto apparently forgotten. 

Tom pulled out a strange device from his belt. With a long suffering sigh, he pressed a button. All around them, the high windows and loading dock doors began to groan, metal bars descending with screeching and whining complaints. After the noise of the closing doors ceased, Tom spoke. “This is pointless. You waste your energy and all of my good will. These doors won’t open without the correct code now. You have nowhere to go, no options.” He kicked at the body of one of Gladio’s victims. “And now I have to find more allies. What a waste.” 

Prompto flicked his gaze around. Hs legs still shackled, he lay nearly on top of the body of the man who had been holding him hostage. The gun they had struggled over rested less than a foot away. 

“Put the sword away, son,” Tom said to Noctis. 

The prince scowled. “I am not your son. Don’t you dare call me that.” 

Prompto stared at the gun on the floor. It was smaller than the rifle Sylvia held, some sort of pistol. A strange feeling of recognition raced through him, like a half forgotten dream. Prompto Argentum had never held a gun in his life. But he looked at this pistol and thought, _it’s a 9 millimeter. Seven rounds._ If it had been fully loaded, then the other guy only got off two rounds. That left five. 

Prompto had never thought about difference between different guns before. But still, he could almost see the individual parts that made up the gun lying next to him, and thought if he were told to do so right now, he could take it apart and put it back together again. It didn’t make any sense, but the thought would not go away. It pounded at him, making his head buzz. 

“I won’t ask you again. You’re not as unexpendable as you seem to think. If you won’t help us, then you may as well be dead for all I care, especially after this mess.” 

Prompto’s wrist itched, and he rubbed it absently. He had already caused enough problems for his friends today. He had no business attempting anything else. He was a civilian for gods’ sakes. Whatever trauma induced delusions of grandeur he was currently experiencing aside; he, Prompto Argentum, did not know how to fight or shoot a gun. 

He stared at the gleaming silver. 

Tom readied his own gun, joining his comrades. “Fine then,” he said. “Be that way.” 

Prompto picked up the 9 millimeter. It felt strangely familiar in his hands. He hefted it, taking into account the potential kickback, the angle of the shot, and the curvature of the path of the bullet. The calculation took him less than a second. 

Then he shot the cologne man. 

*** 

The man who called himself Tom crumpled with a nearly silent oomph. For all the destruction he had caused, his death was almost anticlimactic. Blood splattered from his skull as he sank down, first to his knees, then sideways. 

The two remaining kidnappers briefly wore identical expressions of shock, but Gladio reacted instantly, summoning his sword and running the man behind him through the stomach. It clearly took all of his effort to do that, as he failed to stop his momentum and tumbled in a tangle of limbs after his victim. Meanwhile, Noctis twisted around, ready to attack the woman, but she dropped her weapon, backing up, her hands raised. 

For a second, it looked like Noctis would attack her anyway. He began the swing, though he checked himself at the last second. His weapon raised, he panted and trembled, glaring at the naked woman. 

A rush of exhaustion hit Prompto, and he collapsed to his knees, the gun clattering away. He had shot a man, and the strangest part was how numb he felt. He should be horrified, but he couldn’t seem to summon a single emotion one way or the other. 

Noctis shoved at the woman. “Get dressed,” he commanded her harshly. She scrambled away from him, but it wasn’t like there was anywhere for any of them to go. With that done, Noctis bent down over his Shield, the gentleness of his movement a juxtaposition to his earlier treatment of the woman. 

Gladio groaned and swatted Noctis’s hand away. “Don’t bother,” he began, but it was too late. Noctis did the same thing to his Shield that Gladio had done to him in the van. There was that same feeling of pressure, strange and alien. 

Shuffling awkwardly as he made himself get back up, Prompto’s limbs carried him to where the other two were. He passed by the body of the cologne man. There was now a coin sized, oozing hole dead center in the back of his head. 

Prompto was going to be sick. He couldn’t make himself stop staring at it. Gladio followed his gaze, then bent down to examine the dead man. “What a shot, Prom. Didn’t know you had something like that in you. When did you take firearms training?” 

A warning prickled up the back of Prompto’s neck. Instinct told him that Gladio would not accept the truth, which was that he had no fucking clue how he had done what he did. “My parents don’t know,” he said hesitantly. A sliver of truth. 

Guilt curled in his belly as Gladio accepted that with a nod. “Well, damn if I’m not glad you did. You saved us.” 

Prompto shook his head. Even when he closed his eyes, the vision of the hole in the back of the man’s head would not leave him. Gods, that man had been evil. He had wanted nothing but to hurt Prompto’s friends. It was so confusing. One moment Prompto felt as empty as a mannequin, and the next he was sure he was going to puke from the horror of it. 

Noctis interrupted them from across the room. “It’s not over yet. That fuck wasn’t lying about the doors. They won’t open.” He stood by the door closest to the van. A heavy metal gate had descended on their side of the door. 

Gladio sighed and then limped, not to Noctis, but first to woman. The Shield bent down and rummaged around near the bag of supplies until he found the shackles that Tom had removed from him earlier, then he went to the woman. She had dressed herself while they had been talking, and she accepted the restraints without complaint. 

Prompto leaned over the body of the man he had killed. He tried not to think as he searched for the device that the man had used to close the doors in the first place. When he found it, he held it up, examining it closely. It only had three buttons, an up arrow, down arrow, and a square, blue button. Prompto pressed the up arrow. Nothing happened. 

Gladio saw his helpless shrug and sighed. Noctis meanwhile, was examining the wall next to the main loading dock door. “There’s a panel here with a number pad,” he called back. 

Gladio immediately went to the woman, but she anticipated his question. “I don’t know it,” she said quickly. “Only ah, _Tom_ , and his second in command knew the security codes for this building.” 

“Which one is the second in command?” Gladio demanded. 

She pointed to one of the men Gladio had killed. “His name was Cassius.” There was no accusation in her voice, just calm acceptance. 

“I don’t believe that only those two could lock the damn building,” Gladio threatened, drawing himself up to his full and substantial height. 

She didn’t look impressed. “I don’t much care what you believe,” she retorted. “It won’t change what I know and what I don’t. 

As the adrenalin faded from his system, Prompto was becoming more and more aware of the ache in his face and the throbbing of his missing fingernails. With a groan he let himself collapse back to the floor, drawing his knees up under himself as best he could. Gladio only spared him a quick glance, then went back to his interrogation. 

“If you don’t talk, maybe I’ll see how many fingernails I can remove from your damn hands,” the Shield threatened, but it was ruined by how his voice wavered on the words. 

Even Prompto didn’t believe that threat. The woman didn’t even bother to react. Gladio growled, but before he could keep threatening her, Noctis came back and crouched in front of Prompto. 

The prince, squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. He hesitated, bit his lip, then reached over and grasped Prompto’s hand. Both of their hands were stained with blood, not bright red, but a dirty mix of brown and pink. Prompto’s fingertips were black from the gun. The prince squeezed his fingers tightly and asked, “Are you okay, Prom?” 

Prompto laughed shakily. It was all so ridiculous. “No, not really.” He tried for a wry grin though it made his nose and mouth ache. “I think I will be though.” 

Sylvia interrupted them suddenly. “His real name was Viktor. Viktor Cosvisch.” 

“That’s a Niflheimian name,” Gladio observed. Noctis twisted and watched their exchange in silence. 

“Yes,” she agreed. 

When she didn’t elaborate on her own, Gladio asked, “Why?” 

She shrugged. “Like Viktor said, power.” Her eyes suddenly burned. “You have no idea. No idea. My family was taken, taken to one of the Versuchsanstalten as payment for a debt. What they do there, you people safe in your damned Crown City, you have no idea.” She released a sobbing breath, and then for some reason looked at Prompto. She stared, then her eyes lowered as if there was something on Prompto’s side or arm. He turned to follow her gaze but saw nothing. 

“No I don’t,” agreed Gladio evenly, bringing all their attentions back to him. “You don’t support Aldercapt?” 

In answer, she spat fiercely. 

Gladio narrowed his eyes, just as fierce. “You got those flasks from someone in the Lucian military. Tell me, who’s supporting you?” 

She blinked, suddenly hesitant. For all that she had seemed willing to give them information, this was crossing a new line and she knew it. Her next words were for Noctis. “I am sorry. We truly did not wish to harm you. But you’ve seen the skill of the MT’s for yourself, even one unfinished and untrained. Our resistance was a crumbling thing. And now it is truly finished.” 

“Who was supporting you?” Gladio insisted. 

She opened her mouth. Then a shot rang out. It was louder somehow than the noise of the previous gunfire, booming and echoing across the empty factory floor. The bullet went cleanly through her head and out the other side. 

Gladio was already up and moving, dragging Prompto by the arm. He pulled them behind the van, pressing Noctis half underneath himself and cursing. 

Prompto caught a glimpse of a small, shattered hole in one of the high windows before he was shoved down as well. 

“Fuck, Fuck,” Gladio cursed. He shook Noctis. “Can you do what you did before, when you called to me?” 

“What?” Noctis’s eyes were wild and unfocused. 

“When you called to me in the apartment lobby. It was like a fucking beacon, screaming ‘come get me!’ Can you do it again?” 

Noctis shook his head. “I didn’t do that on purpose. I think it happened because I was hurt so badly.” 

Prompto swallowed at the reminder of what he had accidently done. Gladio swore again. “What you did with your magic to fix my leg up only stabilized it. It won't hold, and we’re like sitting ducks here. God dammit.” 

The factory was silent. The sniper had not tried to shoot at them, but that didn’t mean much. The windows went all around the room, as Gladio was surely aware of. They were on the opposite side of the van from the sniper right now, but that didn’t mean that would remain true, or that there wasn’t another one lining up a shot from one of the other windows right now. 

Prompto thought about Noctis’s powers. “Can you get away?” he asked. “Like phase though the door or something?” 

“No. I have to see where I’m going. And it works at lot better on moving things. It’s more for dodging hits or people.” 

Gladio growled, “We need back up. We’ve got nothing left.” His eyes flicked to Noctis and they seemed to have the same thought because Gladio then said harshly, “No way. No fucking way.” 

“We don’t know if he would feel you,” Noctis said insistently. 

“We also don’t know how bad it has to be to set off that sense or beacon or whatever you want to call it.” 

Noctis glared. “Yes, we do. Don’t be stupid. You would know if it was working.” 

“I’m not doing it. There has to be another way.” Gladio remained stubborn. Prompto had no idea what they were arguing about, but he could feel the importance of it in their desperation. 

“I’m not asking for your fucking permission.” And with that, Noctis summoned a short knife to his hand. 

“Stop!” Gladio held Noct’s hand firmly. “Gods, fine. I’ll fucking do it, you asshole. I can at least make sure not to hit a fucking artery and kill you instantly.” 

Prompto gulped. “What are you doing?” 

Gladio ignored him, taking the knife from Noctis’s hand. “This is the worst idea you’ve ever fucking had.” 

“Don’t let me die,” said Noctis tightly. 

“What the hell are you doing?” demanded Prompto, his alarm growing. 

There was a sudden clattering noise from where the shot had come through the window. They all hunched down lower. “Fuck,” repeated Gladio. 

Prompto demanded again, “What are you doing?” 

“Calling for help,” Gladio replied grimly. “In the dumbest fucking way possible. Astrals help me.” With that, Gladio raised the knife. “Hold still,” he commanded. 

Noctis nodded. “Do it.” 

Gladio stabbed his prince in the side. 

The blade entered Noctis like butter, all the way down to the hilt. Prompto gasped, but Gladio reached back and kept him from moving. “Don’t,” he ordered. 

Noctis took in air with quick, shaking pants. The skin around his eyes and mouth pulled back in a grotesque grimace that gave him a skull-like pallor. His words came out in a trembling stammer. “Is—is it—is it working?” 

Gladio groaned like he was the one in pain. “It’s fucking working alright. Like it’s fucking screaming in my head, demanding I help you.” 

“Well don’t!” 

Gladio ignored that. “Quit moving Noct. I’m gonna leave it in for now to slow down the bleeding, but don’t fucking move.” 

“You stabbed him,” Prompto said stupidly. Had he finally lost his mind from the stress? This had to be a dream, right? Gladio could not have just stabbed the person he had sworn his life to protect. 

Gladio ignored that too. “Keep him talking,” he told the blonde. “If he starts to pass out, I’ll stabilize him with magic again.” 

“You stabbed him!” Prompto repeated, voice going a lot shriller. 

Gladio’s voice was unamused and curt. “I know, I was there.” 

Tears built in Noct’s eyes. Prompto leaned over him. Blood was pooling around where Gladio’s hand still held the knife. “Oh Gods, Noct.” 

Noctis tried to smile at his friend. “Hurts like a bitch, I won't lie. Bet you’re wishing you’d never wanted to try that new game system right about now, aren’t you?” 

Prompto shook his head, wiping away his own tears. “No. Never. I only wish I had been more useful. I’m the reason—I’m the reason.” He stopped, unable to finish his thought. 

Noctis’s next words were fierce. “This wasn’t your fault, Prom. Not a fucking thing, you hear me?” When Prompto didn’t answer he repeated louder, “Say it!” 

“It wasn’t my fault,” Prompto repeated quickly. But it was a lie. So much of this had been his fault. Of course, these had been shitty people. But Prompto had thrown the magic flask. He had been the first taken hostage and used against Noctis. He’d been defenseless when his friends had needed him. 

_But you killed the cologne man_ , whispered a voice in his head. Tom or Viktor or whatever his real name had been. Shot him straight though the head, with no more thought to the morality of it than a machine would have given. Prompto shuddered at the memory. 

Gladio was muttering under his breath, praying. _“Come on, Iggy, you bastard. Please. Please, Iggy. Ignis. Hear your prince calling you. Please.”_

*** 

**Ignis Scientia** 

*** 

It hit Ignis like a mallet. One moment he was pacing back and forth next to the Regalia, trying desperately to calm his thoughts, and the next his heart was stuttering, a jolt of adrenalin shooting through his limbs. He stopped, every muscle tensing like a pointing dog. 

It was the same sense that had assaulted him in the king’s study, but it was weaker. He closed his eyes. No that wasn’t it. The sense was not weaker. Rather, Ignis was further away from it, harder to reach. 

He suddenly remembered the king’s words. The bond between king and retainer was strongest in the moments and days after its formation. But then it stabilized and weakened. 

_No._ that could not be. Not now, when Ignis needed it most. 

Even weaker, it shrieked at him, a dull thudding of _go to him, find him, heal him._ He turned around. Could he follow it? 

He took a hesitant step forward, but the feeling did not change. Another few steps. Nothing. 

Ignis stopped with a huff. This could not be. He could not be so close, only to be foiled like this. With a deep breath, he tried again. Still nothing. Another direction then—there! His heart stuttered again. It was a tiny feeling, but he latched on to it and took another few running steps. There again, he felt something like the pull of a sting. 

_Go to him._

_I’m trying,_ he thought furiously. 

“Ignis! What the hell are you doing?” Clarus called to him suddenly. 

Ignis hummed with the importance of his discovery. “Get the Regalia and all your men together,” he ordered. “I can find him.” 

He climbed into the backseat, expecting Clarus to get in the driver’s, but he was surprised as the king slid heavily into the driver’s side and turned around. Clarus got in the front, next to his king. At Ignis’s shocked look, King Regis explained, “Clarus will instruct the Crownsguard based on your directions. Now, which way?” 

*** 

The process was far slower than Ignis liked. Every moment that dragged out made Ignis more and more aware of the fact that the sense he was following was a mechanism that only engaged when Noctis was in mortal peril. They could not follow Ignis’s directions in a straight line, instead having to turn down wrong streets and go out of their way. It was beyond frustrating. 

It felt like hours, but in reality it was close to ten or fifteen minutes when they came to the isolated factory building. It was long abandoned, tufts of grass growing high in the spaces between the parking spots. 

“This has to be it,” Ignis breathed out. 

How long had he been feeling Noctis’s life ebb away now? _Please let it not be too late._

“Look there!” Clarus pointed, even as he drew a weapon, sliding out of the car. Ignis and the King followed him. More Crownsguard and Kingsglaive cars pulled up behind them as Clarus raced towards the building. 

There had been a man on the roof. All dressed in back. He disappeared to the other side as they approached, but not before they all got a glimpse of the long rifle in his hands. _Sniper._

Ignis could barely breathe at the thought. Then the worst thing happened. His sense of Noctis’s peril simply vanished again as if it had never been there. 

“NO!” he shouted. He stopped in his tracks. 

The King turned back to look at him questioningly. Ignis could not speak, but Regis’s eyes still widened in understanding. The air around him seemed to swell with terrible pressure so strong that Ignis took another step back. 

The King of Lucis strode forward, his limp barely noticeable. He walked up to the front door. One of the Glaives tried to stop him. “Your Majesty, there’s some sort of gate barring the entry. We’re looking for another way in right now—.” 

“Move.” 

The Glaive jerked back, giving the king a wide berth. Regis then took a deep breath. His face was a dreadful thing, menacing and alien. The pressure around him built and built as the others shifted uneasily. In a swell of blue and purple light, twelve swords burst all at once from his back, shining with power and magic. The king did not direct them with his hand, but rather his eyes. Those closest to him saw how his gaze lasered in on the door that stood between him and his son, then all twelve weapons converged. They tore through the metal bars like paper, shredding the gate in faster and faster motions until the weapons all blurred together. When they were finished, they swooshed together and as quickly as they had been summoned, disappeared in a pattering of sparks. 

Inside the abandoned factory was pure carnage. For a second, all Ignis could see were dead bodies. Not Noctis. Not Gladio. Not his friends. _Please._ But then he saw them, Prompto included, all hunched by a parked van. 

He didn’t register himself running, but suddenly he was by their side. “Noctis! Thank the Six, are you alright?” 

Gladio had his hand tightly pressed on the prince’s shoulder, and his grip seemed to be exuding a strange sort of pressure, like the pressure of the King’s magic, but also somehow not. The Shield followed his gaze, then said, “I stabilized him after he started to pass out, but he needs a real doctor.” 

Noctis wasn’t the only one. They were all covered in blood and bruises. Prompto’s fingers were a raw mess. 

“But you’re alive,” Ignis said, trying to make himself feel it. “You’re alive.” 

Gladio sagged down. “We’re alive,” he confirmed wearily. 

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:  
> Violence: There are some descriptions of dead bodies and people being shot and stabbed. The characters react to this with shock and disgust at various points and those reactions are described.  
> Torture: The main baddy pulls off two of Prompto's fingernails when Noctis tells him he won't comply. Prompto's reaction is described more than the actual fingernailing. Personally, I had a toenail pulled off once (though it was an accident) and it was not a pleasant experience.  
> NonCon: The threat is the same level as the last chapter. One of the OC's undresses themselves and offers herself to Noctis, and Tom reaches for Noctis at one point, but it never goes further than that. Gladio stops it before it goes anywhere. 
> 
> Thank you as always for all the love and support. Y'all feed my soul. <3


	4. Do MT's Dream of Electric Sheep?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we discover that Clarus does not have trauma informed interrogation techniques, and Noctis sleeps through all of the drama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter originally had a little opener about Prompto's childhood that grew to be not very little. If you would like to read it, as it still works as an opener to this chapter, it is now posted as a one shot, part 2 of the series. _The Tin Soldier_. Its certainly not necessary, but I figured I'd put it out there. https://archiveofourown.org/works/13371129 Otherwise, the only thing you really need from it to understand this chapter is that Prompto's dad keeps a gun in his desk drawer. 
> 
> **Warning for dealing with the aftermath of trauma. Nothing terrible, but I wanted it to be clear in case anyone didn't want to read about that. 
> 
> ***Finally, as promised, a summary of the last chapter for those who didn't want to read it. The kidnappers try to force Noctis to comply with their demands by torturing Prompto. Noctis gives in, but before they can get started, Gladio suddenly decides to fight back. There is some action, then Prompto ends the whole thing by shooting the main kidnapper in the head. One of the kidnappers tells them that they are from Niflheim, and they just wanted the power to fight back against their government. A unknown sniper kills that kidnapper, and then the boys are finally rescued by Ignis and King Regis. Noctis is badly injured, Gladio has been shot in the leg, and Prompto has been beaten up and is missing some fingernails. 
> 
> ***Otherwise, I hope y'all enjoy this slower paced chapter.

*** 

**Prompto Argentum** 

*** 

After their rescue, Prompto followed Gladio and Ignis through the Citadel to some sort of hospital type area. When the doctors tried to separate the Shield and his prince, Gladio put up such a fight that it nearly turned violent. Even Gladio’s father couldn’t talk sense into him, and finally, Ignis snapped at them that they were all wasting time, and wasn't it less difficult for both them and Noctis if they didn’t fight about such things right now? 

Gladio grinned savagely at Ignis, and then forced his way into the room they had set up for the prince, leaving Ignis and Prompto outside the doorway. At that point, an annoyed looking Clarus instead grabbed Prompto’s arm and drew him aside. 

Swinging around and staring plaintively at Ignis, Prompto begged his friend with his eyes, but the advisor just shook his head. “It’ll be alright, Prompto. They just want to ask you a few questions.” To the Crownsguard leader, Ignis demanded, “Prompto is injured. Must you do this right now?” 

Clarus responded gruffly, “We should to talk to him while the memories are fresh. There’s a doctor ready to look at him while we’re talking, don’t worry.” And with that, Clarus led Prompto away. 

The blonde teen tried not to panic as he was separated from his friends. After all, he was safe now. They all were. 

The room they took him to was small and narrow. It immediately made Prompto feel trapped and claustrophobic. As promised, a doctor was already waiting for him, directing him to sit on the cot and hold out his bloody hand. Prompto stared at the walls pressing in, ignoring the roaring in his ears as the doctor tisked over his nails and made unintelligible comments. Men filed into the cramped room. First, a weathered looking man with bright blue eyes and a lot of stripes on his uniform, then another wearing the black Kingsglaive costume, and finally Clarus again. 

Clarus introduced the others. “Prompto, this is Captain Drautos and Glaive Constance. They just want to ask you a few questions about what happened to you, if that’s alright.” The Shield to the King smiled encouragingly. 

Prompto wished desperately that Gladio or Ignis were still here. He had no idea who any of these people were or if he could truly trust them, but eventually he nodded hesitantly. “Okay.” 

It started simple enough. They asked him to recount everything that had led to the attack. Why was he with the Prince in the first place? Had they planned to meet up? At what point had he first realized that something was wrong? When he got to the man at the end of the hall, they stopped and made him go over and over everything he had noticed about the man who called himself Tom. Yes, he had been wearing a mask, but what color was his hair? Had Prompto been able to see his eyes? Would he recognize that cologne if he smelled it again? 

Prompto could tell they were disappointed in his vague answers. But it was hard to get past that roaring in his ears, the shaking of his hands, and the vision of the dead Crownsguard on the floor. Guard Adrian and the blood spraying from his outstretched hands. 

All three of the men frowned when he got to the part with the magical flask. Clarus blinked and asked incredulously, “Why would you throw a magic flask as your prince? How was that supposed to help anyone?” 

Something like shame or embarrassment clenched Prompto’s stomach tightly. He lowered his eyes and replied, “I didn’t think it would hurt him . . . I didn’t know.” 

Captain Drautos, who had so far mostly been silent, asked, “You didn’t think throwing a magical bomb at your Prince would harm him?” 

_Oh Gods._ Were they going to punish him? Was what Prompto had done considered treason? What did they do to people who had nearly killed their monarch? The blonde trembled as he did his best to answer, fighting through the sludge his thoughts had become. He protested, “I didn’t know it was a bomb, not like that.” 

“Then how did you expect it to help him?” This came from Clarus, his tone much softer than his counterpart. “Help me understand it.” 

What _had_ Prompto expected to happen? It was hard to pinpoint his exact thoughts. He had been so panicked at the time. “They had a gun pointed at his head,” replied Prompto. “I thought it would at least distract them.” He shrugged and looked down again. The doctor had finished with his hand was busy pressing fingers against the bruises on the blonde’s face. Prompto tried not to flinch. 

“Right,” said Clarus a long moment, “Let’s move on then.” And they did, making him go over everything that had happened in the truck and beyond. When he told them what the cologne man had truly wanted, or at least what he understood of it, all three blanched. 

Drautos’s voice grew even harsher, demanding, “Are you sure that’s exactly what he said? Form a Covenant with a few of my men? He used the word Covenant?” 

Prompto feared the aggressive tone they were beginning to use with him. He desperately just wanted this nightmare to be over. “I don’t remember,” he said suddenly, glancing away from the thunderous faces. “It might have been.” 

Outside the room, through the closed door, Prompto could hear voices shouting, some kind of commotion. Clarus glanced at the Kingsglaive, then motioned the man out. “See what that is.” Then, he turned back to Prompto and put a patient look on his face. Still, he couldn’t hide his underlying tension. “Prompto, we need you to be very clear now. You’re not any trouble. I just want to know exactly what you remember your attacker saying, to the best of your knowledge. Please, this could be really helpful for us.” 

The shouting in the hall was becoming louder rather than quieter. Clarus swore under his breath and pulled the door open. Prompto was so distracted by his buzzing thoughts that it took him a moment to recognize the voices and figures at the end of the hall. 

But eventually comprehension slammed into him, and he jerked his head up just as his mother’s gaze zeroed in on him. She was arguing with an exasperated looking Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive Clarus had sent out. With a triumphant sneer at the guards, she said, “There he is. My son! You have no right to keep him here.” 

“Ma’am,” the guard protested. But Prompto’s mother was a force of be reckoned with. She strode down the hallway, imperiously ignoring him until she came to the small room. 

She took a moment to absorb in the sight of her son, then she was clasping him in a tight hug. “Prom, my baby,” she murmured. Despite himself, Prompto felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t a child anymore, but he would never not feel the rush of security and warmth that only his mother could bring. “I’m taking him home now,” she announced, daring anyone to contradict. 

Clarus, braver than the others, put on a soothing air. “Ma’am, I understand how upset you must be. Your son has endured a great trauma, but I feel it really would be better were he treated here with all the resources of the Citadel at our disposal. Perhaps you’d like to sit with him?” 

“No, I’m taking him home. Now. If he needs any further treatment, our family doctor will suffice, just as he always has. Thank you for what you’ve already done for my son,” she said, not an ounce of gratitude in her voice, “But we’re leaving.” Just like that, she steered Prompto away, a firm hand on his shoulder as she pulled him off the cot and down the hallway. 

He could hear Clarus arguing with the Kingsglaive Captain behind them as they turned the corner, but apparently Prompto’s mother was going to get her way, because they weren’t stopped as they walked out of the Citadel and climbed in their car. His mother never let up her grip on his shoulder, not until they were driving away. 

They were both silent as Prompto’s mother drove away from the Citadel. Finally, Prompto, not able to stand the silence anymore, said, “You’re back from your trip then?” 

Her reply was curt. “Yes.” 

She didn’t elaborate, so Prompto sighed and leaned his head against the window. Surprisingly, she was the one that broke the next silence. “Did they see?” 

Prompto didn’t need to ask what she referred to. “No,” he replied quietly. He thought about the way Sylvia had stared at him, like she could see through him. It hadn’t occurred to him at the time, but now he wondered. It was almost like she had been staring at his wrist band. He absently rubbed at it. The band had been a part of him for so long, he hardly thought about it anymore. 

“Stop that,” his mother hissed with a quick side glance at him. Prompto guiltily stopped playing with the band and went back to looking out the window. 

Hs mother pulled into their apartment complex parking lot, then turned off the ignition, but she didn’t exit the car. 

“What does the barcode really mean?” Prompto demanded, seizing his chance. “I think I have a right to know.” 

She stared out the window at nothing, finally replying, “You know everything you need to know. It marks you as different than your friends.” 

“It marks me as being from Niflheim,” Prompto guessed with more confidence than he actually possessed. A thousand clues from his childhood formed together like puzzle pieces. His parents’ constant trips, arguments in other languages, his strange familiarity with Niflheimian, the gun in the hidden in his father’s desk drawer, the constant secrecy. 

She closed her eyes like words pained her. “Yes,” she admitted. “It does.” 

“Like you,” Prompto pressed, ignoring her apparent discomfort. He wondered if all Niflheimian babies were marked with the same tattoo. It would have to be a fairly recent invention, since his mother didn’t have the same tattoo. He thought about the way that Sylvia had stared at him, the recognition in her eyes. She had seen him for the outsider that he was. He had one microsecond of relief that she was dead and unable to betray him, before he felt sick at himself. Gods, what the hell was wrong with him? 

His mother shook her head. “No. But my mother was. She raised me alone in the slums of Tenebrae, as a part of a Niflheimian immigrant community. There, I saw the destruction of the Niflheimian military for myself.” 

This was the most Prompto had ever heard of his family’s history in all sixteen years of his life. He stared at his mother with wide eyes. 

She sighed. “I was a bright child, you see, much like you. But I’ve always been especially talented when it comes to languages. I speak Tenebraen, Niflheimian, and Lucian all without an accent, or with one if I choose to. Few can say the same.” As she spoke, she demonstrated her talent, her normal Crown City accent falling to something similar to Ignis’s, then rougher, like the Gralean immigrants Prompto had met. 

He stared at her in wonder, and she blushed, pink spreading across her cheeks. Prompto wondered how often she got to show off her talent. Unable to rein in his curiosity, he dared to asked her more questions. “But how did you end up in the Crown City? And with dad and me?” 

He had been too greedy. 

Her face closed off. “That is a long and complicated story for another day, Prompto,” she said, ignoring his disappointed look. “You—you were something different anyway. We were together your father and I, doing—important work, and we saw you, and we couldn’t—I couldn’t just leave you there. You were so vulnerable, so innocent and in terrible danger.” 

She swore under her breath and finally said, “It’s hard to explain, and even harder to understand, I know. But everything I’ve done since we found you, Prompto, has been for you. I know we haven’t always been the best parents, and I’m sorry for that, I truly am. But you have to trust that what I’ve done, it’s all been to protect you.” With that, she fell silent. 

She had not given Prompto all the answers he had wanted. But it was the most honest she had ever been with him, even if it had taken him nearly dying to get her to open up. “I love you,” he said softly. 

She smiled gratefully. “And I you.” 

Still, she didn't exit the car. Prompto waited, wondering if she were going to add more to her story. Finally, she said, “We can't stay here Prompto. I know you didn’t mean any harm by it, but your friendship with the Prince is too dangerous. I’m sorry.” 

That wasn’t at all what he had expected to hear from her. “What?!” 

She didn't look at him. “When your father returns, we’re moving, leaving the Crown City.” 

He blinked in disbelief, struggling to process. He had never, not once in his sixteen years of life, left the city of Insomnia. “You can't do that!” 

Her voice was hard and monotone. “It’s already been decided, Prompto. This is for your own good.” 

It was all too much. Prompto slammed open his car door, hands trembling. “This is bullshit,” he hissed, not caring how childish the words sounded. 

His mother gave no response, simply watching him stalk up the steps to their apartment. 

*** 

That night, he locked himself in his room. His faced ached and itched, but the doctor had warned him that the elixir they had given him would cause that. He sat in front of his computer, just staring at a blank screen. Usually he would work on his photographs, but his camera had been in his book bag, and he had no idea where that was. 

Nothing felt real. It wasn’t possible that this morning he had been at track club, only to be attacked and nearly die several times over. And now, despite all odds, he was sitting in the dark, staring a bluish screen, trying not to scratch at the new skin on his face. 

He had murdered a man this afternoon. Nothing should feel the same, and yet it did. 

What did that make him? 

Prompto’s sleep that night was restless and full of formless dreams. He woke constantly, drenched in sweat, out of breath, and shaking. 

Finally, he gave up and got back on his computer. He had an email from Ignis, asking if he was alright. For a moment, he stared at it, dumbfounded as to why Ignis would email him instead of just sending a text, but then he remembered with a sick jolt that their kidnappers had destroyed his phone. Noctis and the others had no easy way to contact him right now. 

He emailed back, saying he was as fine as could be expected, knowing full well that Ignis would probably grasp a lot by the fact that his reply had been sent at 3 in the morning. He had no idea how to say, _my mom is some sort of secret agent, spy person and she thinks we’re too vulnerable in Insomnia, so she wants to make us move away. Guess I’ll never see you again, but thanks for the rescue. Also, I shot and killed a guy this afternoon and no one seems disturbed or upset by that._

He didn’t expect to get a reply back. After all, it was 3 in the morning. But Ignis surprised him by immediately replying back that he was glad Prompto was doing all right. Noctis was still asleep and drugged, and likely would be until tomorrow, but Ignis would let him know when the prince awoke if he wanted. 

Prompto replied that he was grateful, and he would like that very much. 

There wasn’t a real trigger for what happened next as Prompto hit the send button. But suddenly, Prompto was shutting his computer off with shaking hands. He curled up in his chair and drew his knees under himself. Then he cried with stifled whimpers and hiccupping breaths. It was as if he didn’t have the energy for a bigger breakdown. But tears still blurred his vision long into the morning. 

*** 

The next morning, Prompto’s mother said to him, “I’m going out. I’ll be back tonight. I expect you to stay in the house today, do you understand?” 

Prompto protested, “It’s Monday. I have school!” 

She remained firm. “I’ve already called the office. You have the flu. They won’t expect to see you for the next few days at least. Stay home Prompto. I’ll see you tonight.” 

Prompto deflated, accepting his defeat. He wondered if she wanted to keep him away from Noctis and the others. It wasn’t like Noctis would have gone to school today anyway. Even with all the healing magic of the Citadel, he had still been stabbed in the chest and nearly burned to a crisp. 

Prompto’s nails and face continued to itch as he sat home alone. It should have been nice to have the time to do nothing, but being stuck in the house by himself left him with far too much time to think, his thoughts racing in all sorts of directions he didn’t want them to go. Like the hole he had put in the back of a man’s head. 

There were, of course, all the revelations from his mother to sort through. Her insistence that they flee the Crown City as soon as his father returned. He told himself that she hadn’t meant it, that she couldn’t mean it. She was just frightened and lashing out, but once things calmed down she would see reason. She had to. 

But even with that on his mind, mostly he couldn’t stop thinking about what he had done. In particular, how it had felt to hold the gun in his hand. 

His wrist itched, and he rubbed at it, only to realize what he was doing and then shove his hands under his lap where they couldn’t betray him. 

Was there even such thing as being a natural gunman? The ability to shoot straight was a skill, something that had to be honed, wasn’t it? It didn’t make sense. Running was another thing he was good at, and that too had needed to be honed. People usually didn’t begin competitive running with the correct stride or the most efficient movements. It had to be taught and practiced. And yet shooting was an even less natural activity than running. 

Prompto drummed his fingers against his thigh, feeling like a stranger in his own skin. What did it all mean? 

Still trapped within his circling thoughts, he drummed his fingers some more. His knee bounced up and down. Then he stood up in a fit of sudden resolution. 

Making a decision seemed to lift a heavy weight off of his chest, and so with confidence he didn’t actually feel, he walked across the hall to his father’s study. The door was locked. But it was a simple lock, one a child could overcome with a coat hanger. His father had never suspected that Prompto would ever do what he was about to do, and so he had never bothered to truly secure his things. 

Prompto straightened a wire coat hanger and went to work, taking less than ten seconds to undo the lock. Then he was inside. The drawer where he had once seen his father hide a gun years ago wasn’t locked, and for a second Prompto was afraid he had risked his father’s wrath for nothing. But no, there was the gun, years later in the same place. It was some sort of large pistol, silver and gleaming. Prompto hesitated before delicately picking it up, holding it like the thing could go off in his hands at any second. 

What he was about to do was insane. His mother was going to kill him. But even that thought couldn’t stop him. After all, what could his mother do to him that the cologne man hadn’t already done? 

Probably a lot, actually, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that. 

Prompto took the gun back to his room. His speaker was cheap, yet loud. He connected it to his computer, put on some screaming, head bashing music, then raised the volume until the walls were literally vibrating. He wasn’t sure how well blasting metal music could cover up the sound of a gun shot, but it was the best idea he could come up with. Prompto’s family lived in a lower middle class, blue collar apartment complex, and there were plenty of third shift workers sleeping right now who would be furious, with no qualms about letting him know. 

Having made his cover noise, he pulled up a stool, placed it at one end of the room, and put a used can of green beans on top of that. 

This had to be the stupidest plan he had ever come up with. He didn’t even know if the gun was loaded, and he had no idea how to check. Yesterday he hadn’t had to think about it. The strange and terrifying knowledge of how to use the tool made for killing had simply come to him, uninvited. 

Prompto backed up until he was as far away from the can as possible, about ten feet. Far less distance than he shot the cologne man from yesterday. He raised the gun with trembling hands, taking a deep breath to steady himself. 

When he pulled the trigger, nothing happened. 

He had to laugh at himself then. This was ridiculous. There was a little button next to the trigger, clearly in the ‘on’ position. Trying to get his heartbeat back under control, Prompto turned off the safety, then pointed the gun once more. 

Again, he pulled the trigger, not giving himself any more time to hesitate. The gun blasted out with far more force than he had been expecting. It recoiled, jerking his arms up roughly and painfully. The pushback was so much that he narrowly avoided hitting himself in the nose. Even having experienced it yesterday, he felt his ears ringing from the impact. 

There was no way his metal music was going to cover that up. 

Arms stinging, he ignored his ringing ears, leaning forward to inspect the green bean can on the stool. It sat there innocently, completely unharmed. With a frown, Prompto stared around, trying to see where the stray bullet had actually gone. 

There, by his bed, a hole in the wall. _Great._

His whole body still shook with adrenalin as he glared at the gun, feeling irrationally like the thing had betrayed him. How had he managed to put a hole in a man’s head from twenty feet away yesterday, yet could not put a scratch in a green bean can a day later? 

He stared at the gun. It was larger and heavier than the pistol he had used yesterday, and thus needed to be held and aimed with that in mind. Somewhere in the back of his thoughts, a calculation ran. He should have held the gun with two hands, his dominant hand first and the other tight over it to help stabilize his grip and avoid that recoil that had nearly taken off his arm. Arms not locked, but not too bent either. 

He suddenly realized that he had backed up and was once again pointing the gun at the green bean can. His heart raced. There was a rectangular notch on the barrel to help his aim, but he had no need for such things. This time when he squeezed the trigger, he was prepared for the incredible force that jarred his arms and the noise shook the room. The can toppled from its place on the stool, a smoking hole dead center in the aluminum. 

Prompto slowly lowered the gun. 

_Well, Shit._

*** 

**Gladiolus Amicitia** 

*** 

Gladio knew that when Kingsglaive bonded with the king, they were usually allowed to sleep off the strain of their new bond for several days. They were considered useless during that time, and that was taking into account the experience the king had in creating bonds. Noctis was much newer at the process, clearly, and just as Noctis tended to use far too much wasted energy in warping, Gladio suspected that he used far too much energy in creating his covenants. 

Which all was to say that Gladio really should be recuperating for the foreseeable future, rather than what he was actually doing, which was keeping vigil over Noctis’s sick bed. 

Noctis was deeply asleep, dragged into unconsciousness by some sort of concoction the doctors had given him. They had been worried about how hard he had pushed himself with his magic, coupled with his injuries, and had decided a drug enforced rest would be best. The King had sat with Gladio for the first few hours in silence, but finally his duty had called him away. Ignis had been the same. A page had come at some point to summon the advisor to Clarus’s side, and he followed with a heavy look at Gladio. And still Gladio remained, sitting on the cot next to Noctis’s bed. 

Gladio knew that his father would want to talk to him the way they had talked to Prompto, but he didn’t trust Noctis to be alone. Not now, while the prince was asleep and vulnerable. Not after seeing everything he had witnessed about their attackers. The kidnappers’ information and aid had come from within the Citadel, and until Gladio could discover who exactly had betrayed them, Noctis was not safe. 

Noctis’s cot was far larger than the one Gladio was perched on, so when Gladio finally couldn’t take it anymore, he gently pressed Noctis closer to the edge of his bed and then curled himself around the teenager. It was stupid and probably overdone, but there was no way he could relax after everything that had happened. If someone attacked again, the seconds it would take to move from one bed to the other were too many to contemplate. 

Noctis’s usual scent was hidden under the acrid smell of old blood and sweat. Gladio sighed, and did his best to ignore it as he shifted next to the smaller teenager. Finally settled around his prince, Gladio let himself sleep. 

*** 

Sometime later, Gladio suddenly awoke to shadows and lights flickering above him. He snarled, raising a fist defensively. 

“Whoa there, big guy. It’s just me.” 

Gladio blinked. Then Ignis’s bespectacled face swam into focus. The frantic looking advisor was waving at him and whispering, “Hurry up. Your father is about to walk in. You don’t want him to find you like this, do you?” 

“Huh?” It took Gladio a moment longer to grasp what Ignis was talking about, but then he remembered how he had fallen asleep. He scrambled to get off the bed, barely managing before Clarus pushed the door open. 

The older Shield took in the sight of Ignis and Gladio standing guiltily next to Noctis’s bed and let out a slow sigh. “Leave us,” he said with a curt wave to Ignis. The advisor’s gaze flickered hesitantly to Gladio, but he obeyed. 

Gladio stood at attention despite the strain it put on his injured leg. “Would you like me to report, sir?” he asked, scrambling to collect his wits. 

Clarus didn’t answer, instead choosing to look at the sleeping prince. Finally, he asked his son, “Do you remember the conversation we had when you first joined the Crownsguard? It was under rather similar circumstances.” 

Of course Gladio remembered. Standing over the sleeping prince, his father had told Gladio that his sole purpose in life was to protect Noctis. That any of Gladio’s needs, whether they be romantic or otherwise, would always come second to his prince. 

“Yes,” replied Gladio, holding himself stiffly. He had thought that his father wanted to hear the details of what they had experienced while it was still fresh in his memory. But now he wondered if his father had a secondary purpose in coming here. After all, Gladio had directly disobeyed his father and facilitated Noctis and Ignis’s ill-advised escape from the Citadel. Maybe he was about to get the chewing out of a lifetime. 

Gladio could only grit his teeth and wait. 

The older Shield took a deep breath, then spoke, keeping his eyes on Noctis. “You cannot be both lover and Shield, Gladiolus.” 

This was literally the last conversation Gladio wanted to have with his father. It was up there with the ‘how to use a condom and avoid STDs’ demonstration they’d had when he was fourteen. “I know that,” he said, trying and failing to clamp down on his defensiveness. 

Clarus’s gaze was fierce as he turned back to face his son. “Do you?” he demanded. “I’m beginning to have my doubts. Twice now, I’ve seen you in bed with your prince--.” 

So he had noticed them in the hospital bed just now. 

“Fucking Six, dad. Don’t you know anything about me?” Gladio interrupted, “I’m straight. _Straight!_ If you’re angry that I didn’t do my best to traumatize him while I was taking his fucking virginity--.” 

“Enough!” Clarus hissed. He glared at his son, raising his fist aggressively. He took a deep breath and forcibly lowered his arms. “You will not speak about your prince that way.” 

“What way?” jeered Gladio, “The truth?” he glared at his father and wondered why the older Shield was so incredibly concerned about his relationship with Noctis. Concerned enough to have this discussion right after they had been viciously attacked, before even getting Gladio’s statement. 

Then he realized. _It had to be._ Clarus knew about, or at least suspected Noctis’s feelings for his Shield. The ones that Ignis had told Gladio about last night. It seemed literally everyone had known except for him. “I can handle a teenage crush,” he added for good measure. 

Clarus shook his head. “That’s where you’re making a mistake. Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum will never be just a teenager, and you cannot treat him as such.” 

“I know—.” 

“Let me finish!” thundered the older Shield. “The Kings of Lucis are different than the rest of us. They live magic, breathe it. Now that he is awakened to his magic and his connection to the Crystal, you cannot expect Prince Noctis to act as rationally as you or I. His magic will call to him in ways we cannot begin to understand.” 

Gladio wanted to say that he knew that as well, thank you very much. But since he had been yelled at before, he held his silence. Clarus continued, “The Amicitia have been protecting our Kings for centuries, and in that time we’ve learned a few --trends that have proven fairly reliable. For example, the effect that the crystal magic has on its users.” 

“That it steals their physical energy and weakens them? Everyone knows that.” 

Clarus ignored his son’s hostile tone. “And yet, they continue to use it. Despite the damage the Crystal does to their bodies.” 

“They have to,” said Gladio with a frown. “Lucis would fall without a king.” 

“And yet, no king has ever in a thousand years shirked his or her duty to that end.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that once an heir to the royal magic begins to use his connection to the Crystal, he does not stop. Again, it’s no guarantee, but it is a trend that’s proven reliable in the past. Though Prince Noctis complains bitterly of the lengths you push him to, he would eventually find an excuse to use his magic on his own, whether or not you were there. His magic calls to him, begging to be unleashed.” 

Still, Gladio did not understand his father’s point. “Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because, Gladio, think! In what ways do you expect a hormonal teenager will be driven to use his magic now that he had begun? You’re his Shield. You must protect him, even if it’s from himself. And you can't do that if you cannot decide what you are to him.” 

Gladio stared at his father. Could it be true? He thought about the events of the past week, their fight in the bunker. Within days of not training with Gladio, the prince had come to him, saying that he was ready to perform the ritual. What it that simple? No. That was ridiculous. Noctis came to Gladio because the teenager had caved under all the pressure surrounding himself, not because of some unfulfilled need to use his magic. 

“I’ve never heard that before,” Gladio said suspiciously. 

“You’re hearing it now,” replied Clarus. Then he said, “Now can I, or can I not, trust you to do your duty?” 

Gladio snarled at the judgment in his father’s voice, but he answered, “Always.” 

Clarus nodded. “Good.” Just like that, he accepted his son’s words and was ready to move on with the conversation. “Now, tell me everything that happened this afternoon.” 

And so Gladio did. He didn’t have to explain to his father what the duffle bag of elixirs and potions meant, or the radio that picked up the official Crown channel. He told Clarus about how, in his disorientation, he had been defeated by two of their attackers. How he had used magic he didn’t yet understand to heal his prince. Gladio spoke succinctly about his realization of what the kidnappers were after and the numbed, cold calculation that had led him to fight back, despite the danger that action posed to Prompto. 

When he was finished, Clarus said, “Even though I don’t agree with how you chose to fulfill the Covenant with Prince Noctis, you did well, Gladio, with the tools that you had. No one could say differently.” 

Gladio swallowed uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to direct praise from his father, nor was he that sure that his decisions had been the right ones. Everyone was alive and safe, but that was due mostly to blind luck. And they had little to no information on their attackers. 

Clarus added, “As to your suspicions of help from inside the Citadel, I hope I don’t need to tell you to keep that to yourself for now. I’ll speak to the King personally about this and talk to Drautos about which guards he trusts the most. Together we will get to the bottom of this.” 

Gladio nodded, and with that, his father left. 

*** 

**Ignis Scientia** 

*** 

Ignis was concerned for Prompto. Of course, you couldn’t really get tone out of an email, but still, Ignis knew the blonde well enough to know that his responses to Ignis’s queries had been out of character. Not that they shouldn’t be. After all, he had been incredibly traumatized. Perhaps it would have been stranger if he had replied normally. 

_But still._

After being dismissed from the room for Gladio and Clarus to have their conversation, Ignis had left to run some errands, speaking to a Kingsglaive about the investigation into the attack. Later that night, he came back to Noct’s room to find Gladio still there. The two of them finally sat down, and Gladio detailed the events of their kidnapping. That was the first time that Ignis realized the role that Prompto had played in ending the threat. 

“He shot this Viktor person? Actually shot him with an actual gun? Prompto?” 

“Yeah,” replied Gladio. “It was pretty incredible. Got him in the back of the head from like twenty feet away.” Gladio blinked tiredly at Ignis through the dark circles under his eyes. “Why?” 

Ignis didn’t answer right away, his thoughts circling. Finally, he asked, “Where is he now?” 

“Who, Prompto? I heard his mom came to pick him up. Heard she was pretty terrifying too. Walked right up to both my dad and Drautos and told them she was taking him home and they could suck a dick if they didn’t like it.” 

Ignis narrowed his eyes. “Both your father and Captain Drautos were questioning Prompto? Why both of them?” 

At that, Gladio looked down at his lap. His voice grew harsher. “The king put my dad in charge of the investigation, true. But Drautos personally asked to be involved.” He looked back up at Ignis. “Guard Adrian was with the Kingsglaive before Drautos transferred him to the Crownsguard. It isn’t supposed to work like that, but they made a special exception.” Gladio paused again and took another deep breath. “He was supporting two kids and pregnant wife, Ignis. They took him off the frontlines to keep him safe!” 

“I know,” Ignis replied quietly. “I’ve trained with him before. He spoke of his family quite often.” 

“Astrals.” 

After that, Ignis insisted that Gladio get some actual rest, saying that he would watch over Noctis for a while. Gladio seemed to struggle with that, but eventually he nodded. “Just—don’t leave him alone, okay?” 

“I won't,” Ignis promised. And he didn’t. He sat there all night, emailing Prompto and doing what work he could from his laptop. Noctis never woke up and was still unconscious when Gladio came back early the next morning. 

“Now it’s your turn,” Gladio said, hauling Ignis bodily up from his perch. “Get some sleep, Specs.” 

He complied, choosing to stay in his room at the Citadel rather than go to apartment alone. Ignis slept barely three hours, but what Gladio didn’t know about wouldn’t hurt him. After it had been long enough, he texted the Shield. 

_I: Noct awake?_

_G: No._

_G: Doc said they’re taking him off the sedative this afternoon or evening though._

_I: Understood._

With that, Ignis went to the Citadel IT department and requested a cellphone. He had to use his special clearance as the prince’s aid to get one, but eventually they relented. Then he headed towards a part of the city filled with rows and rows of small apartments. 

When he knocked on the front door of Prompto’s apartment, no one answered, and for a moment he thought he had driven over here for nothing. But then just as he was about to leave, the blonde teen answered the door. 

Ignis took a moment to take in the sight of his young friend. Prompto looked like he had gotten about as much sleep as Ignis had. His nose was still a sickly yellow color from the remnants of his magically healed bruising, and his eyes were narrowed in suspicion. “Ignis?” 

Ignis smiled disarmingly and asked, “May I come in, Prom?” 

He wasn’t surprised when Prompto hesitated at those words. After all, not a single one of them had yet to be invited to Prompto’s house. There had to be a reason for that, but Ignis ignored that suspicion in favor of smiling brighter and pretending not to see Prompto’s hesitation. It was all very Gladio of him. 

As Ignis pushed his way inside, he said, “I wanted to check up on you, see how you were doing. Also, I’ve brought you a little something.” Ignis stopped inside the entryway and waited patiently for Prompto to catch up and lead him somewhere else, such as the kitchen. 

Instead, Prompto said, “My mom’s not home.” 

Ignis raised an eyebrow. “Are you not allowed guests when your parents aren’t home? I was under the impression that they’re away rather often.” 

“It’s not that,” replied Prompto, hesitating again. “Never mind. Do you want something to drink?” 

Ignis nodded and then followed Prompto into the small kitchen. “A glass of water would be fine. Or coffee, if you have it.” 

“We do,” Prompto replied without looking at him. 

Ignis hadn’t expected this to be as awkward as it was, but he soldiered on, watching as Prompto set up the percolator with familiar movements. “I heard your mother came to pick you up.” 

“She did.” 

Ignis sighed inwardly. “Well, I--.” 

Prompto interrupted him suddenly, “What does it mean, to covenant with the prince?” He jerked back around from the coffee maker, eyes desperate and wide. 

Ignis should have seen this coming, but he didn’t, and now he floundered. “Prompto . . .” he began, unable to figure how to end that sentence. He didn’t feel like it was his place to tell that truth since Noctis had clearly purposefully kept it from Prompto, but at the same time, this had affected Prompto to the point where he deserved to know at least something. 

As Ignis’s silence stretched too long, the blonde sagged, his face falling. Turning back to the bubbling coffee, he muttered, “Never mind. I’d rather not know than see you lie to my face.” With those words, he shrank into himself defensively. 

It was times like this where Ignis was struck by the differences in his two younger friends. Noctis would have been just as angry if he felt Ignis were hiding something from him, but where Prompto lacked the confidence to demand answers, Noctis possessed the entitlement of his birth, the belief that he deserved certain truths. 

“It isn’t that I don't want to talk to you about that, Prompto,” Ignis said gently, “But I’m honestly not sure it’s my place. I think this is a conversation better had with Noctis.” Of course, Noctis would likely never be willing talk about the covenant with anyone, but Ignis couldn’t control that. 

Prompto did not look at Ignis. “Yeah,” he agreed noncommittally. 

Ignis sighed again, then made a decision despite his reservations. “To covenant with the prince, or any royal Lucian really, is to form a magical bond with him or her.” The advisor waited as Prompto turned back around slowly, his expression wary, but avid. Then he continued, “It’s what lets the royal retainers use magic.” 

“So those people wanted access to Noct’s magic?” asked Prompto. 

“Yes,” Ignis confirmed. 

Prompto’s eyes narrowed. “What part of making this Covenant requires you to get naked?” 

Ignis really should have prepared for this sort of conversation before going to visit Prompto. “It’s a rather intimate . . . procedure,” he replied. “Look, Prompto—.” 

The blonde interrupted before Ignis could deflect him, “Are you covenanted with Noctis?” 

Ignis stared at him. Finally, he answered in a slightly strangled voice, “Yes.” 

Prompto didn’t pause, firing off his questions now. “With the king too?” 

“No. Just Noctis.” 

“And Gladio?” 

“Gladio is as well.” 

Prompto seemed to process that for a moment, then he said, “He talked to me about it, you know.” 

“I’m sure he did. He values your opinion very much.” 

Prompto acted like he hadn’t heard Ignis. “He didn’t call it what it was. But he said he had to do something with you, something he was afraid would ruin your whole friendship.” 

At that, Ignis’s chest clenched tightly, though he tried not to show it. But Prompto was watching his reactions closely, and Ignis saw the blonde pick up on his discomfort. 

The percolator beeped, and Prompto poured the coffee, setting it on the table in front of Ignis. “You said you brought me something?” he asked, suddenly changing the topic. And there was another difference. Prompto was far more giving in some ways than his prince, particularly in social situations. Of course, Prompto hadn’t been asked to give nearly to the extent that Noct had in his short life. 

Taking the offered reprieve, Ignis held up the package in his hand. “Your book bag and camera are still in evidence lockup, unfortunately, but I’ll bring that by as soon as I can. Meanwhile, here’s a new cellphone. I took the liberty to program mine and Noct’s number, though you’ll have put in any others you’d like.” 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Prompto said, even as he reached for the box. 

Ignis raised an eyebrow wryly. “I think it was the least we could do, actually. Don’t worry, I didn't pay for it. These are the same ones they give Kingsglaive and Crownsguard.” 

Prompto looked at the phone, then back at Ignis. “Thank you,” he said. 

“You are very welcome.” Ignis watched as Prompto slid the phone from its plastic wrappings, examining it. “I was worried, you know,” Ignis said after a moment. 

Prompto looked up. “Worried about what?” 

“That you wouldn’t want anything to do with us after what happened. That you were rethinking your friendship with Noctis.” 

With a frown, Prompto paused his examination and asked, “That’s not why you brought me this, is it?” 

Ignis shook his head. “No. I brought you that because I wanted to. And it was an excuse to see if you were doing okay, since you left the Citadel rather abruptly.” 

“Yeah, my mom is –something else.” 

Ignis snorted. “Gladio seemed very impressed with how she spoke to his father.” 

“He would be.” Prompto rolled his eyes. Then he said earnestly, “Iggy, I would never leave Noctis. Not willingly anyway. You have to believe that.” 

Ignis looked at his friend. Out of all of them, Prompto was the one that Ignis knew the least about and was probably the least close to. “I do believe you, Prompto,” he replied, “I very much do.” But there was something there, something in Prompto’s expression that set Ignis’s hackles up. 

The blonde was hiding something. 

Ignis thought about how this teenager had shot a man in cold blood yesterday, saving his and his friends’ lives in the process of course. But still, that had to be a hard thing to live with. Was it as simple as Prompto not having any idea of how to deal with the aftermath of what happened? Or was there more going on? 

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the support. Y'all are the best and I adore every comment and kudo. :)


	5. The Fight, Flight, or Freeze Response

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto continues to have an existential crisis, Noctis and Gladio pull each other's pigtails, and Ignis fights a one-man crusade against the overwhelming force of government bureaucracy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Warning for trauma dream that involves some triggering thoughts/fears of sexual assault. If you want to skip it, skip the first Noctis section.

*** 

**Prompto Argentum** 

*** 

After Ignis left, Prompto went back to experimenting with the gun. He didn’t try to shoot it again, too afraid that someone would wonder what the hell was going on. But he laid the weapon down on the kitchen table and stared at it. Then he pulled out a few pins, twisting pieces apart until the gun was disassembled. He picked up each part and felt its weight in his hand and the cool touch of metal. Then he put the weapon back together again, sans bullets. When he finished, he pulled the trigger and heard the satisfying click of a correctly assembled handgun. Then he did it all over again, but faster. 

He found that he was far quicker and more successful when he didn’t give himself time to think about what he was doing. It was like he had some sort of muscle memory begging to be unleashed if only his waking brain would cease interfering long enough to let it happen. When had he learned this? _How?_ And if this had been inside of him all this time, what else was lurking in his subconscious? 

He thought about how easy it had been to shoot the cologne man. How numb he had felt. _Like a machine._

With a sick feeling, Prompto finally picked up the gun and took it back to his father’s study. There, he realized that he had made a glaring mistake. All he’d had to do to unlock his father’s study was push a wire coat hanger into the hole in the doorknob until it clicked. The lock was simple, as was the key, but Prompto didn’t have the key. He had no way to relock the door from the outside. 

His parents would know he had been in the study, but would they suspect he had taken the gun? There were two bullets missing from it now, but did his father know offhand how many had been in the weapon to start with? How often did he use the gun? Prompto had no way of knowing. 

The blonde took a deep breath and decided that there was nothing he could do about it now. He would just have to keep his cool, feign ignorance, and hope his parents didn’t notice. There wasn’t really anything else. 

*** 

Later that night, Prompto’s mother came home, dragging two suitcases. She seemed haggard and tired, but she smiled at him and asked, “How are you feeling, Prom? Your bruises doing any better?” 

He nodded mutely, then raised his eyebrows at the suitcases. Following his gaze, she explained, “These are for you, Prom. We won't be able to take everything with us, so I need you to decide what you think is most important to you. Everything you’re taking needs to fit in these two suitcases.” 

It wasn’t that Prompto had forgotten her sudden plan to make them leave the country. It was rather impossible to forget. But it hadn’t felt real, and he had been so consumed with his gun experiments. He opened his mouth to argue, but something in her face stopped him. Despite her earlier warm words, there was no emotion in her expression, her eyes steely and hard. She added, “You’re not to leave this house until you’ve done what I’ve asked you to do.” 

Silently, he took the two suitcases from her and walked to his room, shutting the door behind him. In his room, he wondered what would happen if he ‘lost’ the suitcases. Likely his mother would still make him move to Tenebrae or wherever it was that they were truly going, but without his clothing or things. It wasn’t fair. 

As he was brooding, his new phone dinged, showing a text from Noctis. N: _Hey._

Prompto stared at it. Just one word, and it left him with no clue as to Noctis’s true feelings or mood. Was the prince struggling as much as Prompto was? Was he angry? Did he feel abandoned because Prompto had left the Citadel before he had awoken? Finally, Prompto replied: _Hi._

The squiggle line that said Noct was typing displayed for a moment, then went away, but no text came through. Prompto frowned as the squiggle line came back, disappeared, then reappeared again. He was about to brave sending another text when his phone dinged again. N: _You okay?_

How to answer that? Ignis had asked him the same question, and the blonde hadn’t trusted him with anything close to the truth. Could Prompto tell Noctis about his newfound firearms talent? _No._ Prompto couldn’t tell anyone, not until he understood himself where it had come from. What if he were some deep-state sleeper agent sent from Niflheim to hurt Noctis? How would he be able to tell? His mother had said, _I know you mean well, but your friendship with the prince is too dangerous._ Dangerous because Prompto himself was dangerous? But when he had held the gun, even in the throes of his panic and lacking all self-control, he had turned the weapon on Noct’s enemy, not the prince himself. That _had_ to count for something. 

Could he tell Noctis about his parents’ plan to flee the country? That would require some sort of explanation as to why, and if Prompto wasn’t careful he would edge somewhere too close to the truth. Eventually, he replied: _I’ve been better. But I’m doing okay._

N: _Same._ _They won't let me out of this fucking hospital room and I’m going crazy._

Prompto felt something loosen in his chest. He grinned at the phone and typed out his response. P: _Going?_

N: _Har, har._ N: _You should come over here tom._

Noctis had never invited Prompto to the Citadel before. They always hung out at the apartment. He wondered if Noctis would ever go back to that apartment again. If it had been his home that had been attacked like that, Prompto wasn’t sure he could ever feel safe there again. P: _I’ll try. My mom is pissed tho._

N: _Gladio told me. I’m sorry you have to deal with that._

P: _She’ll get over it._

N: _Yeah._

That ended their conversation. Prompto stared at the suitcases and tried to make himself open one up and start on his mother’s appointed task. He couldn’t. Instead, he decided to go to bed early, but found that sleep was as elusive as the answers to his burning questions. 

Finally, around midnight, Prompto stood up, intent on getting a glass of water. He walked silently through the dark apartment. But when he got to the kitchen, he found his mother still awake. 

Prompto could only make out her outline as she hadn’t bothered to turn on a light either. She sat alone at the kitchen table, silent as he was. He could smell the faint scent of peppermint from the mug in her hands. She didn’t acknowledge him, so Prompto followed her lead, ignoring her as well. Instead, he walked passed her, felt around for the cabinet handle above the sink, then withdrew a glass. As he turned on the sink, the sound of rushing water seemed to echo out, breaking something fragile about the silence between Prompto’s mother and himself. 

“I killed someone,” Prompto exclaimed suddenly, the words just slipping out as if they had been summoned from a void. He couldn’t see his mother’s face, shrouded in the darkness. He had no idea if she was surprised or horrified or even unimpressed. 

The ticking of the hall clock filled the space between them for a long moment before she replied, “I know.” Her words were even, telling Prompto nothing about how she truly felt. 

How did she know? Prompto had not told her any details. Had someone at the Citadel explained the kidnapping to her? His hands shook around his glass of water. “Does that make me a monster?” 

“No, Prompto,” she sighed, clinking the mug of tea on the table. “It makes you human. And only as monstrous as all the rest of us.” 

Prompto allowed himself to gulp his water. It felt like ash in his mouth. 

*** 

**Ignis Scientia** 

*** 

Meanwhile, at the Citadel, Ignis was trying to convince himself that he would not slap this random administrator. 

He stood in front of a counter within the Crownsguard headquarters, glaring at the man behind it. Clarus had asked him to begin the process of tracing back exactly where the duffel bag of potions and ethers had come from. “I was told by Councilor and Shield Amicitia himself to make an inventory of the evidence collected yesterday afternoon,” he explained for the umpteenth time. 

The man shook his stubbornly. “And I’m telling you. You’re not on the file as an approved person. Get the correct form filled out by the lead investigator and come back.” 

“I’m the personal aid to Prince Noctis. I am not some random Crownsguard.” 

“Sir,” the administrator repeated, “I’m sorry. But Captain Drautos himself gave everything related to the kidnapping incident a level five security clearance. I cannot just let you in there because you want it. Come back with the correct security clearance form.” 

Ignis would not slap this man who was just trying to do his job. _He wouldn’t._ Instead, the advisor gave the man one last mutinous glare, and then said stiffly, “I thank you for your time. I will be back shortly.” 

*** 

**Noctis Lucis Caelum** 

*** 

Noctis was walking in a dark and murky place, full of shifting smoke but otherwise featureless. He traveled through the empty plain with purpose, even though there was no difference between the ground and the air, no shadow behind him or light above him. In the dream, it didn’t occur to him to wonder where he was going or why, just that he had to get there. 

_“Noctis Lucis Caelum.”_ The words echoed everywhere and nowhere. They boomed and whirled through him, stopping him dead in his tracks. He could not so much as lift a foot. 

Unwillingly, he turned around. He saw that a Figure had appeared far in the distance. It stood so far away that he could barely make out its humanoid shape, but still, he could feel its eyes on him, ancient and implacable. If he squinted, he thought he could see wings at its back and the shine of armor on its chest. 

This distant Figure was the one who had called his name. He didn’t wonder at how he knew that, just that he did. And he knew also that he had no desire to go towards the Figure. 

With a jerk of his head, he turned back around and continued walking, suddenly able to move as if he had never stood frozen in the first place. He could feel its eyes boring into back of his head, but he did his best to ignore the prickling sensation. 

A different voice, a smaller one, whispered urgently in the recesses of his mind as he walked. _Not that way. It’s not safe!_

But Noctis did not have any other way to go. To turn around would mean facing the Figure in the distance, and he couldn’t bear to do that. So he walked, and as he did so, the smoke fell away. Colors swirled around Noct, and then he was falling, wind rushing past him. In the way of dreams, it didn’t occur to him to panic until he was already standing on his feet again. 

He landed somewhere more solid than the smoky plain he had left. Abandoned tools and dust littered the ground around him, and with a swell of horror, he realized he was back in the abandoned factory his kidnappers had taken him to. Tom, no, Viktor stood in front of him, puffing on a cigarette and grinning smugly. 

Once again, Noctis stood frozen, his body refusing to obey the shrieking commands of his mind. As he stood there, the sickly scent of the man’s cologne washed over Noctis. “You were always going to whore yourself out, Son of Lucis. Don’t kid yourself,” the cologne man said cruelly. 

Noctis tried to back away, to make his limbs work, but then the man was on him, pushing Noctis down, trapping him, suffocating him. The prince felt the man’s heavy erection pressed against his thigh, and he finally thrashed, struggling with all of his might. “Help me!” shrieked Noctis. His attacker rutted into his thigh, the man’s putrid breath pulsing against his face. Noctis twisted his head, trying desperately to get away. 

As Viktor continued to hold him down, Noctis _pushed_ against him with everything he had. A mix of fire, ice, and electricity exploded out of him, blasting the man off of his body. Wild elements raged around Noctis with horrifying, destructive power as the teen struggled back to his feet. 

“You will have nothing of me,” he spat fiercely. 

Before Noct could gather his wits again, smoke swirled. He blinked. Then suddenly, the Being from earlier in the dream stood before him, close enough that Noctis could see the vastness behind its eyes. It cocked its head, seeming to consider Noctis, and then it swept its hands sideways. The visage of the factory disappeared, leaving only the emptiness of the dreamscape behind. 

Noctis stared up at the Figure. Something terrible was about to happen. Noctis could taste it in his mouth and feel it in the shivers racing up and down his arms. The murky landscape remained silent as the Figure stood there waiting. It was giving him a chance to surrender himself. 

The teen did not. And so, the Figure called out a final time, _“Noctis. Lucis. Caelum.”_

Noctis’s name surged around him, trapping him within its shape, binding him deeper, hooking under his skin and defining him. Finally, after what seemed like an endless moment, he was able to look up. The Figure still stood above him, its face a white mask, eyes black and soulless. Not wings, but a dozen swords swirled around the Being, circling behind its back as its words blasted across Noctis. “Will you deny your name, Son of Lucis?” 

Noctis’s name was a gift from his father. It connected him to a thousand years of men and women who had sacrificed everything they held dear for the love and safety of their people. His name was terrible and powerful, and it belonged to him in a way nothing else in this world ever would. 

“No,” he said, the words heavy on his tongue. “I will not deny it.” 

“Then submit,” commanded the Being. 

Before he could reply, they were interrupted. “Not yet,” came a new voice, older and harsher than Noctis’s own. The prince turned around, already knowing who he would see. His father had appeared behind him, tall and proud. The Being’s expression did not change, but its annoyance was palpable. 

“You have no place here,” It said. 

King Regis’s lips twitched. He walked forward a few steps until he stood next to his son, and then he placed his hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Neither do you. Not yet. You promised me time for my child to become a man, and time is what I will have from you,” the king said, his voice as regal and commanding as the Being that faced him. “Now. Please, stop tormenting my son.” 

Noctis frowned and looked up at his father. “Dad, are you a part of my dream?” 

The question seemed a perfectly natural one to ask in this strange dreamscape, but his father laughed at him kindly. “It’s time to wake up now, Noct.” 

Noctis shook his head quickly and fearfully. “It’s not safe,” he whispered. 

At that, King Regis’s smile broke away. He seemed to age before the prince’s eyes. “Fear not, my son,” he said, “I promise you no harm will come to you while I’m watching over you. Now wake up!” 

*** 

Noctis snapped his eyes open suddenly, a knife in his hand, his heart beating out a pounding rhythm. He was braced against another weapon, held diagonally above him. For a second, he thought he was being attacked, but as he prepared to swipe his knife against his attacker, his brain caught up to his reflexes. 

He was in a bed, stiff white sheets and a mild antiseptic smell. His attacker was no attacker at all, but rather his father, standing above Noctis, sword held defensively across his chest. 

“Dad?” Noctis asked stupidly. 

The king grimaced. “Son,” he said with a nod. 

Letting his knife disappear was as easy as a stray thought. After a moment’s hesitation, his father followed Noctis’s lead with a quick ripple of sparks. 

“Why—?” began Noctis, but then he finally noticed the state of the room behind his father. The machines around him smoked and sparked wildly. Lines of fire trailed out away from his bed in a spiraling pattern that he was all too familiar with, and a large sheet of ice covered the bed next to him. Gladio was crouched beside it, posture tense. Noctis got the feeling that the Shield had narrowly avoided the blast. 

“You were having a nightmare,” King Regis said quietly. “When we tried to wake you, you grew . . . combative.” 

“Oh.” Noctis swallowed heavily. This was the first time he had seen his father since leaving the Amicitia family’s cabin. The last thing he could remember was lying beside the van in the factory, Gladio’s hand on his stomach. He trembled. _“Dad.”_

With that word, an odd expression passed over the king’s face, and then he was like a wild creature released from a leash. He bounded forward, scooped up his son, and crushed him in a tight hug. 

It didn’t even occur to Noctis that he was too old for such things, or that he was currently angry with his father. All of that fell away as silent sobs racked his body. _Safe._ He was safe. “Dad,” he repeated. 

His father shushed him. “You’re okay now, Noct. You’re okay,” he said and then repeated it as if he needed to convince himself, “You’re okay.” As Noctis continued to tremble, his father murmured, “I’m watching over you now, Noctis. I promise I’ll keep you safe.” 

Noctis let his father hold him for a long time. 

*** 

**Ignis Scientia** 

*** 

Ignis once more strode up to the front desk of the evidence lock up. The same man he had argued with yesterday was on duty once more. Ignis held up a stamped form. “This is signed by both the King and his councilor. Surely that’s enough.” 

The man took several agonizingly long seconds to read over the form. “Looks good,” he agreed. 

“Then the key please.” 

After being handed the key, Ignis hurried into the evidence lockup. He had already wasted plenty of time with this. The fact that Clarus was having him investigate and not one of the Crownsguard was telling in and of itself. Because Gladio had recognized the ethers in the kidnapper’s duffel bag as belonging to the Citadel, they knew that there had to be a connection somehow within the Citadel itself. That couldn’t be more troubling. Yet ethers, potions, and magical flasks produced by the Citadel were tracked. They were given serial numbers and inventoried. If Ignis was clever, he would be able to track back to when these ones had gone missing. 

Ignis found the locker the duffel bag had been placed into, locker 243, and turned the lock. He opened the stiff metal door. 

_It was empty._

Locker 243 was empty. Ignis frowned to himself and checked the file made by the Crownsguard who had dropped off the bag. No, locker 243 was what the original Crownsguard had written down. Ignis blinked at the empty space for a moment longer, then turned around and stalked back up to the front desk attendant. “Are you absolutely sure the bag of potions and ethers was placed in evidence locker 243?” 

The administrator shrugged nonchalantly. “S’what the file says. Don’t know what else you want me to say.” 

Ignis took a deep breath. He asked very, very slowly, “Well, they are not in locker 243, so where else could they be?” 

“Maybe they were put in the wrong locker?” 

“There are over four-hundred lockers down there,” replied Ignis. The man just looked at him. Ignis sighed. “Do you have some sort of skeleton key?” 

“Why?” 

Ignis raised an eyebrow, until finally the man said, “Ohh, you want to check all the lockers.” 

“Want is perhaps a strong word.” 

The administrator seemed immune to his sarcasm. “No skeleton key, but I got a copy of each one in this drawer here.” He blinked at Ignis’s unmoving form and then asked, “You want me to give ‘em to you?” 

Ignis didn’t quite trust himself to speak, so he nodded. 

“Well, you’ll need to file the right form for that, like you did for this one. Can't just be handing these to anyone that asks.” 

“That would be tragic.” 

“Exactly.” The administrator smiled benignly at him. 

This was perhaps going to take longer than Ignis had anticipated. As the administrator handed the form to him, Ignis added, “I’ll need the security footage from the past few days as well to determine everyone who’s been in here.” 

“That’s a different form.” 

“Yes, I suspected that.” 

*** 

**Noctis Lucis Caelum** 

*** 

Noctis was going to kill Gladio. _He was._

“I’m not going to break,” he hissed at the Shield. The doctors had set him free that morning, but he still was supposed to take it easy for a couple of days. He and Gladio were in one of the Citadel’s many gardens. Noctis had been itching for something to do, anything that wasn’t sitting around in his room. Prompto was apparently grounded in some way, though the details weren’t clear. Ignis remained busy with Citadel stuff, and so finally, Gladio had offered to do a light workout with Noctis, emphasis on the light. 

Gladio just snorted. “You also aren’t going to break my guard with that stance.” He pressed down on the prince’s shoulders. “Widen your hips. Lower. . . Not that low!” 

Noctis snarled at the Shield and swiped sideways with a half shove, half punch. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to let go of his deep tension and irritated, nervous energy. The shove/punch glanced off Gladio, but then the Shield retaliated with a swift movement. He slid his arm up Noct’s, gripping the prince firmly. Competently, he twisted Noct’s arm sideways while also pushing his leg in between them, and then Noctis went down hard, all of the breath going out of him as he hit the dirt. 

“Ummphh.” Noctis glared up at Gladio’s smirking face. 

“If your stance had been right, I wouldn’t have been able to do that.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Noctis groaned. His side, though it had magically healed, still ached dully. Sometimes with bad injuries, the body remembered a trace of the hurt for a little while. He ignored the discomfort, not wanting Gladio to realize it and have a fit. But of course, he should have known that Gladio’s nearly sixth sense for those sorts of things couldn’t be overcome. 

Suddenly Gladio was crouched over Noctis, his concern evident in his dark eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier? I told you I didn’t want to push you.” 

Noctis swallowed but didn’t answer. Strangely, the only thing his brain seemed capable of processing was the faint smell of the Shield’s sweat, overlying something cleaner that was still distinctly Gladio. His mind flashed a helpful image of a different version of Gladio leaning over Noctis, glistening black ink crawling up his biceps, the burn of his hands pressed against Noct’s wrists. 

Gladio frowned above him, almost like he could sense where Noctis’s traitorous thoughts had gone, and then he reached down, hauling Noctis bodily back up. “Maybe we should just stick to stretches and core today. Your focus is total shit.” With those words, Gladio reached over and maneuvered Noctis, paying special attention to how he moved his still sore ab muscles. 

Noctis found himself just as distracted as before, but at least the consequences were less dire with the simple stretching. Gladio had always been a very touchy person, far more than anyone else in Noctis’s life. And Noctis had always noticed and always craved it in an embarrassingly sexual way. Yet this was different now, even if Gladio were pretending otherwise. 

_I’ve seen your soul, Gladio._ For the tiniest, briefest moment, sure, but still. 

_Some things you can't take back._

“Are we going to talk about it?” Noctis demanded suddenly as he reached down to touch his toes, feeling the pull on his hamstrings and barely getting his fingertips to connect. 

Gladio looked rather annoyed. He huffed, “Depends on what you mean by ‘it’ . . . seriously, do you only stretch when I make you? That’s pathetic.” 

Noctis nearly swatted at him once more, but stopped himself just in time. He didn’t want to end up in the dirt again. “You were the one just talking about how I had been injured. Come on, gimme a break!” 

“I didn’t realize you’d been stabbed in the hamstring too, Noct,” the Shield snorted. “I’ve seen how you can bend those hips when you’re really motivated.” Gladio seemed to realize what he’d said at the same time as Noctis because they had an awkward moment where their eyes met, and then Gladio was looking away, lips pursed and cheeks growing steadily redder. 

“Are we going to talk about it?” Noctis repeated. 

“Don’t see the need,” Gladio said gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thought we were all on the same page about—that.” 

“Yeah,” replied Noctis slowly, “Guess so.” 

Gladio’s eyes flickered back up to the prince. He looked like he might say something else, but then he visibly changed his mind. “Let’s do a jog around the garden. Three laps and then you’re done for the day.” 

Noctis nodded and without another glance at his Shield, took off running, letting the soft beat of his sneakers on the dirt trail drive away all of his thoughts. 

*** 

**Ignis Scientia** 

*** 

Once again, Ignis stood in front of the front desk attendant at the Citadel evidence lock up. Earlier, he had tracked down the Crownsguard who had signed off on the duffel bag. The man had been baffled, insisting up and down that he had done his job as faithfully as possible. The duffel bag and its contents were in locker 243. Or at least they had been a few days ago. He had not touched them since. 

Ignis slapped down not one form, but several, one after the other. “Here is the clearance giving me the same access that Councilor Amicitia would have. Here it is signed by the king.” The first time he had gone to Clarus, the Shield had only signed the form in relation to the locker that was supposed to contain the duffel bag. They had not made that mistake again. 

After reading the forms over, the administrator bent down and rummaged in the desk next to him. With a groan, he lifted a large metal container up and placed it on the desk. Then he turned the computer around to show Ignis and together they watched a sped up run of the security footage of the past few days. The duffel bag of potions and flasks had been brought in by the Crownsguard the day of the kidnapping. The administrator on duty that night and the next day had gone in and out of the lockup a few times, as did one or two Crownsguard. No one had carried anything remotely large enough to hold the potions. So the duffel bag had entered the evidence lock up and seemingly not left. Ignis cursed that the only camera covered the entrance and not the actual room with the lockers. 

“You’re not really going to go through every single locker in there are you?” the administrator suddenly asked. 

Ignis gave him a withering look. “You’re welcome to help me.” The duffel bag had entered the lockup and seemingly not left. It wasn’t in the locker it was supposed to be in. Logically, the simplest answer was that the duffel bag was still in that room somewhere. Thus, Ignis would have to search for it. 

The man said with an affronted air, “I can't just leave my post.” 

“Of course not,” Ignis agreed. With that, he levered himself under the box of keys and ponderously carried it into the evidence lock up. 

*** 

**Noctis Lucis Caelum** 

*** 

Noctis was still not allowed to leave the Citadel the next day. He had briefly seen Ignis the night before, but the advisor had looked harried and distracted. Noctis missed Prompto like an ache in his side, but the blonde had rejected his invitation to come to the Citadel, and somehow, trying to talk on the phone after everything that happened seemed strange. 

As for the Shield, Noct didn’t think Gladio would pester him again about training for a little while after that awkward encounter, but the Shield surprised him by showing up that morning, decked out in sweatpants and ready to go. 

“You said you were bored,” Gladio said mercilessly to Noctis’s whining. Noctis glared at the Shield for that, but he still put on his own sneakers and followed the older man down the hall and towards the gardens. “You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?” Gladio asked as they walked, keeping his eyes straight ahead. 

Noctis could only shrug. Of course Gladio had noticed. “It’s been hard to relax. And when I do sleep . . . nightmares.” 

“’Bout what?” 

Noctis almost didn’t answer him, but then he changed his mind. “In my dreams, you don’t volunteer,” he replied in a low voice, also choosing to keep his eyes focused ahead. “And he touches me instead. Or sometimes you do, but it’s—awful.” 

“He’s dead,” said Gladio harshly. “He’s never touching you again.” 

Noctis didn’t answer him. The question _‘Will you?’_ rose in the back of his throat, but he resolutely held it in. 

They stopped in a large grassy area of the garden. It was warm, the morning air carrying the promising scent of newly budding spring flowers. After a few warm up exercises and some more comments about Noct’s stretching, Gladio stood in front of the prince. With a shimmer of silver sparks, the Shield manifested his large practice sword. Noctis felt it tug on him like a fishhook under his skin, and he shivered. 

“We start slow,” Gladio said in a tone that allowed for no argument. “You can cycle your weapons and phase, but no warping. Got it?” 

Like Noctis had any desire to feel the aching tiredness that came from an intense warping session anyway. He had only just now started to feel normal again after the strain of the two new Covenants and his injuries. He rolled his eyes. “Yes, mother.” 

Gladio ignored his jab, and so Noctis called his own weapon, choosing a long spear. Against Gladio’s incredible sword strength, distance was a vitally important strategy. The Shield didn’t give his prince any sort of warning before attacking, but Noctis was ready for that. Gladio rarely announced the beginning of a battle fairly. They spent a few minutes teasing each other, with Gladio stopping the fight often to correct something about Noctis’s stance or movement. However, soon they fell into the rhythm of the battle. 

At one point, Gladio feinted, but the motion was unusually sloppy. Noctis easily sensed the Shield’s true intention, and the teen reacted accordingly, switching to a heavier weapon and punishing Gladio with hearty whack to the solar plexus. 

The Shield coughed and stumbled back as Noctis crowed his victory at him shamelessly. 

Gladio narrowed his eyes. Rather than coming back for a counterattack, he pressed his sword into the ground and leaned on it, signaling that the fight was done. Noctis let his own weapon ripple away and waited. Gladio seemed to be considering something. Finally, he said, “I want to try something. Stand still, okay?” 

“--Okay?” 

“Seriously, just stand still.” 

Noctis nodded as Gladio ripped his sword back out of the ground and faced Noctis squarely. With a sudden movement, Gladio came up on the prince, swinging the sword in a wide overhand motion. But once again, Noctis could see the little tells that said Gladio had no intention of hitting him, and so he didn’t so much as flinch as the sword came within an inch of his ribs. 

Gladio withdrew his sword once more, and Noctis raised his eyebrows. “Did you have a reason for that?” The Shield didn’t answer. Instead, with a grunt, Gladio tried to cuff Noctis on the side of the head, but the teen easily phased around it. “Seriously?” Noctis demanded. 

Gladio was once again giving him a considering look. “You’re reading me way too easily. I noticed it yesterday too.” 

“Maybe you’re just being really obvious,” Noctis jeered. 

Gladio shook his head slowly. “No. I don’t think so.” The Shield stared a moment longer as Noctis crossed his arms uncomfortably. Then Gladio announced, “Let’s experiment.” 

“Urgh, do we have to?” 

“Don’t be obnoxious,” Gladio barreled right over the prince’s objection. “Remember when your dad was having you meditate on your magic or whatever?” 

“Yeah,” Noctis replied suspiciously. “If you also remember, it didn't go super well.” 

Gladio waved that away. “Well, now you know how to find your magic. Just try it will you?” He collapsed into a half lotus. “Here, I’ll do it too.” 

Noctis sensed this wasn’t something Gladio would easily let go. The man was like a terrier once he got an idea in his head. With another sigh to let the Shield know just what Noct thought of this plan, he sat down too, drawing his legs underneath himself. Noctis closed his eyes. He almost didn’t try, but after a long, boring moment, his curiously got the better of him, and he sought out his magic. 

_How had this ever been hard?_ The crystal’s magic was right there, roiling and churning under his skin and in his veins. Power flowed steadily between himself and the Crystal in a constant, whispering exchange. 

As if it sensed his attention, the magic steadily grew— _louder_ the longer he focused, until he was practically humming with it. It drenched him, and even though his eyes were closed, he felt the world brighten around him, all of his senses suddenly oversaturated. 

Gladio shattered the moment. His words seemed too loud, echoing through Noct’s skull. “What do you feel?” 

Noctis let his frustration lace his response. “Well I was feeling my magic, you know, that thing you told me to do.” To his eternal mortification, Noctis abruptly realized that with that over-bright feeling of his magic and Gladio so close by, he was steadily growing harder. His body remembered all the things that could be done with this flowing energy. Despite himself, he squirmed, his pants feeling tighter and tighter. 

“Describe it for me.” 

Noctis didn’t want to. He didn’t know how. “It feels like magic.” 

“Your eloquence never ceases to amaze me.” 

Trying to pull himself together, Noctis focused on Gladio. The connection was there, bright and potent. It had changed since the last time Noctis had tried to observe it, become more—stable, though the prince would never have been able to say why exactly that was so or what that meant. He just knew instinctively that it was true. If he had been forced to explain it, he would have said something like the connection felt less raw, or that it tugged on him less than before. 

When Noctis had first imagined this, he had pictured the Covenant as a gift or more accurately, a taking. Through sex, he would sever a bit of his magic away from himself to give to another. But the Covenant of the Crystal had always been talked about by others as a joining, an act of creation, and now Noctis understood why. He had not severed any part of himself to give to Gladio. Rather, like a sprouting seed, the roots of Noct’s magic had tangled themselves throughout Gladio’s being, binding them together permanently. Now that he was focusing, Noctis could identify that tangling of essences, could feel Gladio intimately. 

Gladio’s heartrate was slightly elevated from their fight, though it was rapidly slowing as they both sat. The Shield’s leg ached a bit, but physically he felt good, wide awake and full of life. His attention was fully on Noctis, rather than on any meditation of his own. All of this, Noctis sensed about his Shield as he explored their connection. 

Suddenly, Gladio recalled his weapon back to himself. Now that he was giving it his full attention, Noctis detected not just the slight tug at his magic, but felt every bit of the path it traveled from him to his Shield. Once again, he shivered at the sense of possession that overcame him. Gods, he wanted nothing more than to leap up and tackle the Shield, devour him. The need ate at Noctis, burning a hole somewhere deep in his chest. 

Noctis snapped his eyes open and met Gladio’s over the top of the broadsword. He watched Gladio swallow. Neither one blinked. 

Gladio broke first, turning his head away to stare at something in his lap. His voice was deceptively light as he said, “I think we should explore this more in the future. I bet there are things we could do together now that we couldn’t before. Things that would give us the edge in a fight.” The Shield looked back up at Noctis. “We should maybe do some warping after all before we stop for the day. Tire you out.” 

“What?” Noctis struggled to corral his thoughts. 

Gladio looked him up and down, lingering at Noct’s unfortunate state of affairs. “Help you get rid of that,’ he said bluntly. 

Noctis would not let his embarrassment get the better of him. _He would not._ He refused to let Gladio intimidate him. In truth, the concentration that warping required would distract him from his arousal momentarily, but the full use of his magic would bring this issue rushing back just as powerfully as soon he paused. The only difference being Noctis would also be tired afterwards. 

Despite his resolution, Noctis felt the heat creeping up the back of his neck. He snapped, “I don’t need help with that. Especially from you.” 

_Not like that, anyway._

Gladio frowned. “My dad said you might—.” 

“Your dad said what? That it was your job to help me? Fuck off, Gladio.” 

“Dude, don’t do that, _please._ I don't wanna to fight with you.” 

“And I don't want your help.” Noctis stood up with that, knowing full well he was putting his situation on full display. 

“Is this because of your—thing for me? Because that’s not my fault, and it’s not fair for you to take it out on me. You know exactly where we stand with each other.” 

Noctis indeed knew. But still, Gladio didn’t have to say it, and he definitely didn't have to say it so cruelly. The prince hid behind formality as he backed away from Gladio. “I’m not in the mood to practice warping today, Shield Amicitia,” he said coolly. “I need to do my make-up work from school. We’re done for today.” 

It seemed he still hadn’t learned how to solve his problems without running away from them. Maybe someone as noble as his father or Ignis would have stood and faced Gladio, but Noctis was not his father. He was not Ignis, and he could not bear to look the Shield in the eyes and see pity there. 

He fled. 

*** 

**Ignis Scientia** 

*** 

Ignis stalked across the Citadel carrying a drill and heavy bolt cutters. He was so focused on own thoughts that he almost didn’t hear his name being called. But suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. He spun around, ready to launch into a verbal assault on his attacker, only to realize that Gladio stood behind him. 

“Iggy?” asked Gladio. “What the hell are you doing?” 

Ignis thought about how he must look. He had not bothered to muss his hair over the past few days, and his clothes were grimy with dust from where he had been nose deep in the lockers, many of which had not been opened in years. He looked up at Gladio’s face and then back down at his tools. “Planning the murder of whoever designed the Citadel evidence lockup,” he answered acerbically. 

“Might not want to announce that so loudly if that’s the case,” Gladio replied, looking unphased. He added, “Mind if I walk with you?” 

Ignis started forward again without waiting to see if he would be followed. “Don't you have tasks or something to be doing?” Gladio was the sort of person who liked people and company, but Ignis could smell a mile away that he had a greater purpose in seeking the advisor out. 

Gladio only shrugged as he kept pace. “You never said what you were doing with a pair of bolt cutters the size of the moon.” 

Ignis let himself be deflected. Perhaps whatever it was that was bothering Gladio wasn’t something he wanted to discuss in the open. He answered in a deceptively even tone, “Did you know that there are four-hundred and eighty-five climate controlled storage lockers in the Citadel evidence lockup?” 

“Nope.” 

“Each one with its own personal key.” 

“Okay?” 

Ignis smiled a bitter smile. “And yet somehow, there are only four-hundred and twenty-two keys at the storage unit.” 

“Huh?” frowned Gladio. “How the hell does that work? Shouldn’t they have some sort of skeleton key or something?” 

Ignis snorted. “ _Oh no._ When I asked how that was possible, I was told that perhaps individual investigators had taken the keys to the lockers they were using.” 

“That’s seems a bit counterintuitive.” 

As they spoke, Ignis and Gladio arrived at the lockup and approached the administrator sitting at the desk. Once again, it was the same person on duty, Ignis’s fast growing favorite person. The man saw the tools in Ignis’s hands and then with a gasp of comprehension, stood up. “You can't do that! There are potentially delicate items in those lockers!” 

Ignis had had enough. 

He smiled sweetly at the man as he barreled past the little wooden gate before he could be stopped. “If you have a problem with my methods, you are welcome to file an official complaint.” Then, he added in his sweetest, most accommodating voice, “I’m sure there is a form for that.” With that, Ignis and Gladio strode into the lockup, ignoring the wide-eyed look of the desk attendant. 

The Shield snorted once they were alone, “Remind me never to get on your bad side, Specs.” 

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ignis replied primly as he retrieved the paper where he had checked off all the lockers that he had already opened. 

“Sure you don’t.” 

Ignis didn’t bother to answer again, instead choosing to get to work positioning the bolt cutter by the first unopened locker on his list. Gladio watched him work for a few minutes. The lockers held all sorts of things. Various papers, bloody clothing, drugs, and in one memorable instance, what looked like a carved up femur bone. The longer Gladio stared at the back of his head, the more uncomfortable Ignis became, until finally he snapped, “Did you actually have something you wanted to talk about or were you really just that bored?” 

Gladio leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. “Worried about Noct,” he finally replied. 

Despite himself, Ignis felt his stomach clench in fear. He stilled in his task. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully. 

Gladio jerked his head to the side. “He’s been too pissy, even for him. Did his best to start a fight with me.” 

Of all the things Ignis expected Gladio to say, concern over Noctis starting a fight with him wasn’t one of them. It wasn’t like constant bickering was a new thing for them. “Well, he has been through a lot this past week,” Ignis said. “And after what we did together, it makes sense that he has to find his place with you again.” 

“Don't see why anything has to change,” complained Gladio, his arms still tight across his chest. 

“Don’t you?” 

At that, Gladio blew out an annoyed huff of air. “We did it just like we said we would. It was fun and safe and all that stuff, at least until everything went to shit.” 

_Gods, Gladio really was thick sometimes._ Ignis sighed, “Just give it time, Gladio. Sometimes you just have to let people find their own way.” 

“I’m worried he’s going to do something stupid again while we’re waiting on that.” 

Ignis shrugged as he opened what felt like the thousandth locker full of random papers. “I doubt he’s reckless enough to run off a second time. What kind of trouble could he even get into?” 

Gladio made a helpless noise. “Don’t know, Specs. Just got a bad feeling, you know?” 

Gladio was a creature of instinct, and his instinct was usually uncannily accurate. If he truly was worried, then Ignis would believe him. “I’ll find Noct tonight and talk to him, alright?” Ignis replied with a placating gesture. “He’ll probably be more open with me anyway.” 

“Yeah,” replied Gladio unhappily. He moved from his slouch against the wall and said, “I’ll go find myself my own bolt cutters. At this rate, you’ll be here ‘till fucking midnight.” 

“That would be much appreciated,” agreed Ignis, giving his friend a wry grin. 

*** 

**Prompto Argentum** 

*** 

Prompto still had not packed his bags. His mother hadn’t scolded him for it, but she also hadn’t let him leave the house. Meanwhile, Noctis’s text messages to him were short and awkward, and Prompto felt like everything good about his life was slipping through his fingers. The only positive thing right now was that at least his mother hadn’t said anything to him about the unlocked study. He wasn’t sure if she hadn’t noticed or simply didn’t care, but either way, that was one thing he wasn’t in trouble for. _Yet._

He still had no idea what exactly he was going to do about all the changes in his life. Without Noctis to talk to about it, Prompto felt the stranglehold of his childhood loneliness creeping back up on him. He just wanted things to go back to the way they had been last week, before the realities of being friends with the most important political figure in Lucis had bitten him in the ass. 

That morning, Prompto was in his room when he heard the click of the front door and the sound of dress shoes on laminate. He froze in recognition. That was the sound of his father coming home. With a gulp, the blonde stopped what he was doing and strained his ears, but he couldn’t make out his parents’ words, just the muffled sounds of their voices. 

With a sigh, he turned back to his computer. He tried to make himself take a deep breath, but found he couldn’t shake loose the tension threading through his back. A few minutes later, he heard the sound of his father’s commanding shout. “Prompto!” 

Prompto had not seen his father in nearly a month, but he recognized the anger in that shout. He was definitely in trouble for something, he just wasn’t sure of the details yet. Swallowing down his trepidation, the blonde made the gallows walk to the kitchen. He thought his father’s anger must have something to do with how lacklusterly he had obeyed his mother’s orders to pack. But when Prompto got to the kitchen, the sight that greeted him stopped him cold. His mother stood near the oven and his father sat at the table, the handgun laid out on display. 

Prompto looked from the gun to his father. “Dad, I—.” 

His father did not let him finish speaking. “Where are the missing bullets?” he demanded. Prompto hesitated, and his father repeated himself with an even more curt tone. “Where. Are. The. Bullets?” 

“My room,” squeaked Prompto, shrinking back. 

His father leveled a stare at him. “I told you that my study was off limits. It was locked. And yet, you ignored all of that, putting yourself and everyone around you in danger.” 

“Dad—.” 

“Guns are not toys, Prompto!!” 

They stared at each other as his mother remained silent. Prompto’s heart thundered in his chest. He realized he had been waiting these past few days for the other shoe to drop, and now it was finally happening. 

His father seemed to gather himself up. “You will go to your room. You will pack the suitcase your mother has been asking you to for the past three days. And then you will come back out here ready to leave.” 

Prompto’s parents had never been particularly stern. They weren’t home often enough to be. But when they did issue a proclamation, Prompto had never in his life confronted one of them about it. It was far easier just to wait until they had left again and then simply do what he was going to do anyway. Prompto hated confrontation. _He feared it._

“No.” 

His father blinked. “Excuse me?” 

Prompto trembled. He was surprised at his own outburst. It was like another entity had taken control of his mouth, spilling things that had been buried deeply inside of him for years. He chewed his lip for half a second, then repeated, “No. I won't.” 

“This isn’t a democracy, Prompto. And that wasn’t a request.” 

Now that he had begun, Prompto couldn’t easily back down. The blonde teen walked forward until he stood uncomfortably close to his father. He kept his eyes on the man as he reached down and picked up the gun. His father’s eyes tightened. “What are you do--?” he began, but then stopped. Without looking down, Prompto made quick work of the gun parts, sliding and twisting pieces apart until it lay disassembled on the table. Afterwards, he stepped back and waited on his father. Prompto’s father glanced sideways at the gun, then back at his son. 

Prompto felt hot tears prickle his eyes. “What am I?” 

His father didn’t even blink. “My very disobedient son,” he replied smoothly. 

“Don’t do that!” Prompto demanded with a long, ragged breath. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m asking you.” With that, Prompto swept his hand across the table, clattering the gun parts to the ground. All three of them flinched at the sound of metal rattling against laminate. 

His father’s eyes followed the movement and then landed back on Prompto. He tightened his lips. “You’re being childish, Prompto. And I’m beginning to lose my patience with it.” 

_Childish._ He was being childish. Prompto trembled with the injustice of those words. “I’m being childish?” he gasped. “Childish? Since when have I been childish? _You left me!_ Both of you left me to practically raise myself. And now you have the gall to call me childish—.” 

“Stop!” his father roared. It was the loudest and angriest Prompto had ever seen his father become. The man took a deep breath, but seemed to gain no composure from it. “How dare you? There are children starving in the streets. Children being used as experiments and turned into child soldiers and Gods know what else, and you have the audacity to complain about what? That you’ve always had a roof over your head? Food in your stomach? Comfort and safety?” 

His mother interrupted with a warning tone, “Markus.” 

“No, I won't have that sort of disrespect in my own home.” 

Her eyes glinted. “He doesn’t understand, Markus. How could he?” 

Prompto balled his fists. “Maybe I’d understand if you would just explain things to me! How hard is that?!” 

His father slammed his fist on the table, silencing the others with the suddenness of his action. He shouted, “You weren’t born, but made, Prompto! Is that what you wanted to hear?!” He shook his head as Prompto’s eyes grew wider and wider. “And if you keep being this stupid, someone in the Citadel will discover you! Every moment you spend with the prince is one more chance for you to slip up, for someone to see your tattoo, to know what that means. For someone who’s fought the clone iteration of MTs to mark your facial structures, or to ask how a sixteen-year-old shot a man with the accuracy of a soldier. Gods, you were about to let them examine you, Prompto! Think! 

“That’s quite enough,” commanded Prompto’s mother, and this time her tone brooked no argument. She had drawn herself up and was glaring venomously at her husband. 

_Child soldiers. Clones. A tattoo that marked him as being from Niflheim. As an MT. A tattoo that neither of his parents shared. His mother had said that they rescued Prompto from a terrible fate._ _Made, not born._ Prompto couldn’t breathe. Without meaning to, he backed away from his parents. “I can't—that’s not—children aren’t made. It doesn’t work that way. And Noctis is my friend. Gladio and Ignis are my friends!” 

His mother shot another hot look at his father. She made a soothing hand motion and said in a low, conciliatory voice, “Prompto, it doesn’t matter how you came into this world. What matters is that you’re here now, just as much as much our son as if you had come from me.” 

Prompto shook his head. “I don’t understand—I—am I dangerous?” 

She gave his father another angry glare, then looked at the blonde teen fiercely. “You’re not any more dangerous than any other person with abilities.” 

_Abilities._ Prompto suddenly thought about Noctis, about the prince’s strange magical powers, the powers that separated him from everyone else around him. Abilities that everyone else seemed so afraid of. 

His mother added, “Please, tell me you understand now. The anti-Niflheim hysteria is only going to become more dangerous, and the situation between the two countries is only going to get worse. Lucis is not a safe place for someone like you.” 

Prompto was clueless. He didn’t even know _what_ he was, let alone the finer points of Lucian politics. If his parents said it was safer to run away, who was he to disagree? But he had promised Ignis he would stay, that he would stay with Noctis. He thought about his even greater promise to his youthful pen pal, Lunafreya, the first real promise he had ever made. He had promised her that he would befriend Noctis. That he would be brave enough see past the prince to the lonely boy beneath. 

Did Noctis even need him? Yes, Prompto was good for a laugh or for a chill hang-out session, but what else? Would he truly be missed? 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, finally looking up and into his parents’ eyes. He wasn’t sure exactly where his newfound bravery was coming from. Maybe it had to do with his recent near death experience. “It doesn’t matter whether staying here puts me in danger or not. I won't leave.” 

“You don't have a choice,” his father replied firmly. 

Prompto was outside of himself, watching this situation unfold. He couldn’t think. He felt himself back up even further, until he stood in the overhang of the kitchen doorway. His father was still sitting at the table, but he tensed in a way that told Prompto he would be able to leap up within a heartbeat. The gun parts still lay on the floor where Prompto had thrown them. 

Prompto’s own heart beat once. Twice. Then he said, “Yes. I do.” 

He turned and fled. 

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for the comments and kudos. They're like drugs for the soul. :)


	6. The Ways That Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and Prompto's story lines finally converge. Meanwhile, Ignis gets his groove on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *This chapter heavily references the events of the previous fic. Basically, for those who skipped it, Ignis and Noctis had a kinda wild night, and the Kingsglaive were sent to bring them home. Noct fought Nyx Ulrich, and when he started to lose, Ignis got involved. They managed to get away. 
> 
> **Some sub/dom undertones are present here. It's pretty minor, but skip the third Ignis section if that's not your thing.

*** 

**Prompto** 

*** 

Prompto jogged down the road for a few minutes without picking a direction, intent on just getting far enough away from his parents that they wouldn’t immediately find him. He passed by a subway station, then hung a sharp left, darting down the escalator. 

There at the turnstile, he realized that he had left everything important behind at the house, both his wallet and phone, but most importantly his shoes. He wore his light house slippers. He hadn’t noticed until then because of his panic, but as he stopped in front of the subway entrance, he realized that his feet ached dully from the abuse of the hard pavement. 

Without his subway pass or any money, he was forced to ascend back to the street. 

What was he supposed to do now? No money. No phone. Not even real shoes. 

He stood there, letting his breathing slow back down and his thoughts gather themselves into an actual plan that was more than just ‘run away.’ He didn’t have a lot of options. No other family to go to, no friends besides Noctis that he was close enough with to even consider asking for help, and Noct was cloistered at the Citadel. 

Either way, he needed money or real shoes. Money would solve the shoe issue. But he couldn’t think of a way that didn’t involve returning to his parents with his tail between his legs. Collect call to Noct? 

No, his stomach rebelled at the idea. He would not go to his friend a beggar. He had that much pride at least. 

His track shoes were in his locker at school, and the school wasn’t too far away. Though it was far enough that Prompto dreaded the walk. But it was either that or go back home. Feeling the eyes of everyone around him, Prompto turned around and headed towards the school. He feared that any moment he would see his parents’ car pull up next to him or hear one of their voices calling to him. He wasn’t ready to go back. 

Prompto was doing his best not to think about his conversation with his parents. How did you even process something like that? He’d pretty much always known he was adopted, but there was a difference between adopted and stolen MT clone experiment. 

_You were made, Prompto. Not born._

By the time Prompto came to the front gate of the school, his feet ached and burned. He’d probably have a blister on each toe by tomorrow. Thankfully, the school was silent, classes having let out over an hour ago. Hurrying, he walked over to the track locker room and stood in front of his locker. In the silence of the locker room, his exhaling echoed against the tiles, making him realize just how fast and shallowly he was breathing. Closing his eyes, he made himself take several deep breaths, head leaning on the cool metal. 

Abruptly, Prompto heard the raucous sounds of boys walking to the lockers. 

The lockers he was currently standing in front of in his pajama pants and house slippers. 

_Shit._

The last thing he needed was the high school gossip chain involved in this. But at the same time, he knew he was screwed the instant he heard the voices. There was only one way in and out of the locker room. So he braced himself, hands clenched on the cool metal of his locker. 

Of course, it was worse than he had expected. He had forgotten that though school had let out over an hour ago, the track team practiced every day in the spring, the same track team that Prompto was a part of. The one he hadn’t bothered to inform of his supposed sickness. None of members of the team even had his new cell phone number. 

Five sweaty boys fell silent as Prompto came into view. He let himself squeeze his eyes shut for half a second, then plastered a vacant smile on his face and turned around to face them. “What’s up, guys?” he greeted. 

“Prom?” asked the one in the front, a red headed freckled boy. His name was Francis, and while he was essentially good-natured, he was also not very skilled at recognizing social limits. Coupled with his habit of being a gossip whore, Francis happened to be the last person Prompto wanted to run into at school. “I can't believe you’re here,” Francis exclaimed, looking Prompto up and down. His eyes lingered on Prompto’s slippers. The blonde fought not to squirm. 

Just what the hell had Prompto’s mom told the school administration for everyone to be so astonished to see him? 

“I mean,” Francis continued, “Like, everyone is talking about you.” As he spoke, there was a murmur of assent from the four boys behind him. 

“What?” Prompto shifted nervously. 

One of the other boys piped up, “His face isn’t all fucked up. Didn’t Myra say his face was all fucked up?” 

Prompto’s hand fell away from the locker. “What?!” he repeated, his voice going higher as he stared at them. He couldn’t believe it. How did anyone outside the Citadel know that? What the hell had he missed being away from school for the last few days? 

Francis put his hand on Prompto’s shoulder amicably. He continued, not seeming to realize how offensive his words were, “Dude, everyone is saying that His Highness totally lost his shit and beat you up. You had some sort of lover’s spat or something.” 

One of the younger boys added, “We’re glad to see you’re okay, Prom.” That boy glared at Francis in reprimand for the other boy’s social faux pas. 

Prompto knew that not very many people could say they were close to Prince Noctis, and even fewer who were outside the Citadel. In fact, he might have been the only one. But still, how the hell could anyone think that Noctis would beat someone up? It was ludicrous, beyond offensive. The longer the allegation sat with him, the more Prompto felt rage bubbling up inside of him. Noctis had saved his life, had risked everything! And the rumor going around school was that they’d had some sort of domestic violence situation? _What?_

Of course, the only time the idea of lovers and Prompto and Noctis came together was as a part of a nasty school rumor. 

“Are you fucking serious?” Prompto demanded, pushing Francis’s hand away from himself. 

That was when Rem spoke. Rem was the one that Prompto would have said he was closest to on the team, though they were by no means true friends. Rem was a scholarship student like Prompto. The dark haired boy spoke with a slight Gralean accent that he clearly worked hard to mask. All the students knew that he took the train every morning from the outer slums. 

Though Prompto was decidedly middle class, he still couldn’t help feeling that connection of shared outsider-ness with Rem. The Gralean was quiet, but in a different way than someone who was strictly shy. Rem seemed to only speak when he felt he had something worth saying. 

Rem explained quietly, “It started with Myra. Her sister is a nurse in the Citadel. She said she saw you being taken into the Kingsglaive ward, looking like you’d had the shit beaten out of you.” The Gralean then gave Prompto a level stare, like he was trying to say something without saying it. 

Before Prompto could respond, Francis added, his face brightly lit with excitement, “Yeah, and Grant’s mom is an admin assistant in the Kingsglaive barracks. She was supposed to go to his recital, but couldn’t because the watch schedules were all messed up or something. He heard her bitching to her unit member on the phone about the Prince running off with his lover and fucking everything up for everyone else.” 

Prompto stared at the five of them. He asked blankly, still barely able to believe this was actually a thing, “And so you all think that we’re lovers, and we ran off together in a fit of passion. And what? Then Noc—I mean, Prince Noctis decided to beat me up?” 

Francis did not seem bothered by the inherent contradiction. “Well, that’s what we’re all trying to figure out.” He gave Prompto an expectant look, but when the blonde didn’t respond fast enough, he added impatiently, “So?” 

Prompto purposely turned away from them, finally pulling his track shoes out of his locker. His hands were shaking with silent rage, but he did his best to contain it. These idiots weren’t worth it. They had never been worth it. 

His track suit and socks had been in his book bag, so he couldn’t do anything about his pajama pants, and he was stuck wearing these shoes without socks, but it was still better than the house slippers. Prompto sat down on the bench, beginning the familiar ritual of lacing up his sneakers. No one spoke. They all seemed to realize how close he was to losing his shit with them. 

Bu then, just as he was about to stand back up, Rem placed a pair of thick running socks in Prompto’s hand. Prompto glanced up at the dark-haired boy. Rem was still expressionless as he said, “Here. I always have extra in my locker for emergencies. They’re clean. Keep them.” 

Prompto searched the other boy’s face for the lie, but couldn’t find it, so he finally nodded gratefully and pulled off his shoes from his bare feet. 

“I didn’t mean to piss you off,” Francis said suddenly as Prompto stood back up once he’d finished retying his sneakers. The loud-mouthed boy’s tone contained a just hint too much of sullen defensiveness. 

Prompto glared at Francis. Whatever was in his own expression made the other boy blanch and cower back, but Prompto couldn’t bring himself to care. He shoved his house slippers in his locker and then spun the padlock. 

He still had no idea where he was going, but anywhere was better than surrounded by them. He stalked out of the locker room, past the main school house and into the front courtyard. 

“Prompto, wait!” 

The blonde spun around to see Rem, the Gralean scholarship student and his sock donator, jogging up to him. The other boy was alone. Prompto wondered if this was the price he would pay for the socks, if this was the trap he hadn’t seen earlier. Did Rem expect him to divulge was had really happened this weekend in exchange for that kindness? 

When he was about three feet from Prompto, Rem stopped and took a second to catch his breath. Then he stared at Prompto with his patented, serious, unblinking gaze. “I’m sorry,” Rem began, “They had no right to talk to you like that. None of them has any real idea of what you’re going through.” 

“But you do?” Prompto asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Rem’s gaze somehow grew more serious. He seemed to be thinking over his words, then he said, “My mother is in the Kingsglaive. A lot of people I’m close to are. I hear things, you know? Things that could get her in a lot of trouble if they knew she was talking about it outside of work.” 

Prompto, at least, could understand the difficulty of keeping your parent’s secrets. “So she told you what actually happened this weekend?” he guessed. 

Rem shook his head. “No. But I know what takes place in the Kingsglaive ward,” he said, his unblinking eyes giving significance to those words. “She wanted me to know, so I could make an informed choice on whether to follow in her footsteps or not.” 

Prompto stared at him, not wanting to admit that he had no idea what happened in the Kingsglaive ward. 

“She said it was the worst, most intimate, most painful experience of her life.” 

“Um,” replied Prompto, trying to figure a way out of this conversation. 

Ignoring Prompto’s uncomfortable stuttering, Rem continued, “My mother watched her entire village burn to the ground thanks to Niflheim, but she still said that forming a Covenant with the King was the most harrowing experience of her life. I don't know why Prince Noctis would do that to you, to be honest. You’re not a Kingsglaive or a Crownsguard, but it’s not my place to judge royalty. Just know that there are people who understand what you’re going through, people who know what sort of sacrifice you’ve made.” 

“Look,” Prompto began, “I think you really have the wrong idea here.” 

“Maybe I do,’ Rem said, his tone firmly displaying that he in no way believed that to be true. “I just wanted to let you know, either way. Those of us who sacrifice for Lucis should stick together.” Rem held up his hand in what Prompto recognized as the Kingsglaive salute. “Have a good day, Prompto,” he said. With that, he turned around and walked back towards the gym and the track room. Prompto watched him go for a moment, then shook his head and left. 

He mulled over Rem’s words as he walked down the street. He couldn’t figure out why Rem had shown him the solidarity that he had. 

_If you keep being this stupid, someone at the Citadel will discover you._

Gods, it had felt like Rem knew something about Prompto that he himself did not. He was so tired of that. Tired of everyone always talking circles around him, assuming they knew what was best, or that there was someone better to tell him. Even Ignis had said it wasn’t his place to talk to Prompto. 

_The Covenant._

It all went back to that. The kidnappers had wanted Noctis to form one with them. Noctis had been distant in the weeks before, presumably because of this Covenant. He had told Prompto that he couldn’t talk about it with the blonde. 

The kidnappers had implied that it involved something sexual, and Ignis, though he had been vague, had all but confirmed that. The Covenant was the reason Gladio had been so sick, why he had been so easily overcome. The deed apparently happened in the Kingsglaive hospital ward and was why Rem now believed Prompto was in some sort of secret club along with Rem’s mother. 

In an indirect way, this Covenant was the reason Prompto was now a murderer. Why his mother and father were forcing him to flee the country. It was dictating nearly every aspect of his life, and yet, he had not been told exactly what it was. 

Prompto realized suddenly that he had been walking instinctively towards Noctis’s apartment building. He stopped and stared up. 

They had removed the police tape. A crew of workers toiled at replacing one of the shattered front window panes of the lobby, but otherwise the building looked as it always had. Somehow that didn’t seem right. The death of so many people should have left a scar in the very foundation of the concrete and steel. 

Noctis would not be there. Nor would Ignis. Prompto had no reason to be here either, unless he wanted to be caught. If he were his parents, Noct’s apartment would be one of the first places he would look, after the arcade. Then again, they didn’t know him very well. Maybe they had no idea where to look. Or maybe they just assumed he was throwing a temper tantrum and would be back by nightfall. Perhaps if he stayed gone long enough, they would miss whatever transportation they had arranged to get them out of the country, and they would be stuck here for a while longer. 

_Maybe while they were at it, Niflheim would surrender too._

Prompto sighed and turned back from the sky rise apartment building. Though it had never occurred to him as something he could do before now, with everything else he had been through today, the decision suddenly seemed trivial and easy. 

He had never been to the Citadel on his own before, but it wasn’t exactly hard to get to, being literally in the center of the city. So he started walking once more, glad that he had stopped for his tennis shoes, even though it had led to that wonderful conversation with his track mates. 

He had some things to discuss with Noctis. 

*** 

**Ignis** 

*** 

“We need to take this to my father,” Gladio said as he surveyed the damage from their search for the missing duffel bag. 

Several hundred evidence lockers later, they had been forced to conclude that it simply was no there. The camera in front of the only entrance to the evidence locker had captured the duffel bag being brought in, had not shown it leaving, and yet the bag was not there. 

Ignis’s mind was racing, shuffling through possibilities and plans. “No,” he replied. “Think, Gladio.” 

“Think about what? There’s officially a traitor in the Citadel. It’s the only logical conclusion. That _has_ to come to the attention of the King and his Councilor. Hell, it’d be treason not to report this.” 

“He already suspects,” Ignis said, certain that he was right. “Both he and Clarus suspect. They suspect, and they don’t want to tip their hand, which means we shouldn’t either.” 

“Tip our hand,” Gladio exclaimed. “Iggy, you’ve spent the last two days either down here looking for that damn duffel bag or investigating the kidnapping. Whoever took the bag knows it isn’t here, which means they know that you know.” 

“Yes, they do,” Ignis agreed. A strange, cold clarity had descended over him. For the first time, he wondered if it was safe to talk about these things down here. “There have been five people down here, two administrators, two Crownsguard, and one Kingsglaive since the kidnapping. That narrows down the suspect list immensely.” 

Gladio’s gaze was steady and thoughtful. Then he repeated, “We have to go to my dad.” 

“We have to be discreet,” Ignis reminded the Shield. 

“Then we go to him discreetly,” Gladio stubbornly insisted. “Who exactly are these five people?” 

Ignis bit his lip, then tore a piece off of his notepad, scribbling the names down. “Here,” he said. “But be careful.” 

“I will,” Gladio dismissed. “You just remember to go deal with Noct’s temper tantrum like you promised.” 

Ignis watched Gladio leave, then let out a long, slow breath. Whoever was behind this, they wouldn’t have gotten caught by the security camera. He had a feeling that those five people, rather than being a lead, were the only ones he could discount as a suspect. Them, and maybe one or two other people who were either too stupid or too explosive to make effective spies. 

Gladio was right in one regard. Whoever had done this had to know that their cover was close to being blown open. The question was, just how would this person or group choose to handle that? 

Rather than going to find Noctis, Ignis went back to his own room after he finished with the evidence locker. He knew he had promised Gladio he would check up on the prince, but he was feeling the noose closing in with his investigation. The time to act was running out. 

Noctis wasn’t allowed to leave the Citadel, and though the teen didn’t have the best track record when it came to obeying such edicts, Ignis was confident they had a least a few more days until Noct started getting stir crazy enough to do something stupid. Especially without Prompto or himself to egg him on. No, Ignis would check on the prince tomorrow morning. He’d be fine. Spending a night sulking after a fight with Gladio had yet to do him any lasting harm. 

In his room, Ignis pulled out his laptop and downloaded the Kingsglaive schedule from the central server. Few people had the permissions to see it in its entirely. In fact, Ignis himself didn’t have that permission. But Clarus did, and Ignis happened to know the senior Amicitia’s password. It wasn’t something he did often. Even Clarus’s goodwill towards his apprentice would have been strained upon such a betrayal. But this was a dire circumstance, and Ignis would ignore no tool in his limited toolbox. He didn’t have that luxury. 

That taken care of, he jumped in the shower, quickly washing himself. When he finished, he rummaged under his sink. This wasn’t something he had done in quite a while, but he had done it before. He eventually found the blow dryer, moose, and hair spray. After styling his hair, he dug through his closet until he found something that couldn’t be mistaken for his Chamberlain uniform. 

Despite his stress, he was starting to enjoy himself as he pulled out a few vests and held them against his shirts. It had been way too long since he’d done this, which was its own travesty. Once this was over, he was going to start going out again on a regular basis before he completely turned into the youngest ever crotchety old man. 

He’d given his hair some volume, but left it a bit messy, giving the slight suggestion that someone had recently run their fingers through the dusty locks. His outfit was slim and flattering, but not formal. He frowned at himself in the mirror, feeling like there was still something missing, but then with a snap of his fingers, he figured it out. Raising a careful hand, he applied just the slightest touch of eyeliner. 

_There._ Now he was ready. He gave himself once last spin in front of his mirror, and grinned to himself. It wasn’t arrogance to say that he looked completely fuckable. 

Which happened to be just what he needed. 

*** 

**Noctis** 

*** 

Noctis felt confused and angry, but mostly confused. His magic still roiled under his skin, brought to the surface by his tension and adrenaline. Gladio had been wrong, a total asshole. Except that Noctis hadn’t exactly been fair either. And Gods-damn, his magic was being annoying. Everything was bright, his vision crystal clear, sounds echoing around him. Every heartbeat hit him like a separate hammer blast, and he just wanted to _move_. 

Maybe he’d hide in his room and jerk off. It wasn’t like he was allowed to do anything else, what with being locked up in the Citadel like a prisoner at the moment. He’d do anything to get some relief from this over-bright feeling of his magic. It was like the Crystal was whispering in the back of his head, _you called me? You’re in danger? You need power? I’m here. I’m here. I’m here._ He didn’t want this energy right now. He wanted to sulk, to just feel the gut wrenching pain of his emotions without everything being so fucking overcomplicated all the time. 

A small voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Ignis whispered that wanting to sulk was like stabbing your nose to spite your face. Not an especially productive use of his time. 

Plus, he wasn’t actually sure that jerking off would relieve that magic induced feeling like it used to. Before the cabin, before his, Ignis’s, and Gladio’s choice, that had been a sure fire way to bleed off the excess feeling of his magic, to leave himself bone tired perhaps, but also satiated. The use of his magic then had been a formless, directionless thing, simply suffusing his muscles and nerves until he was overcome. But now he knew better. He knew where that energy could be directed, where it was _supposed_ to be directed. 

How was it possible that he was craving what a week ago he had feared and detested with every ion of his being? The act he was daydreaming about was analogous to rape. Just because he, Ignis and Gladio had managed to subvert it, didn't change the inherent dynamic. And he was a monster for the way his gut tightened at the thought of ever doing it again. 

He had taken the long way back, needing to wrangle his thoughts, but eventually he made it to the hallway that led to his room. Two guards were in the middle of a heated, but whispered argument. They were so distracted that they didn’t salute his approach like they were supposed to. He stopped in front of them. “Sarah? Leo? What’s up?” 

The two guards jerked apart. They both straightened up and formed a hasty but acceptable salute. “Nothing, Your Highness,” Guard Sarah said with a warning look at her co-worker. 

Noctis raised an eyebrow at Guard Leo. “Nothing?” 

“You have a visitor, Your Highness,” the guard replied, ignoring the other’s look. “He’s waiting by the inner gate.” 

Noctis did not get visitors. Everyone he was close to worked at the Citadel except for Prompto, but the blonde wouldn’t have come here. He would have called and asked to meet at the arcade or something. Of course, there were plenty of sycophants and hanger-ons at school who thought having spoken to him once in the hallway meant they could claim a friendship with the Prince of Lucis. But that was usually a problem at the beginning of the school year when classes changed and people came and went, all looking for new groups. Spring was a bit late to be dealing with crazy stalkers. 

Guard Sara spoke in a firm voice. “It doesn’t matter. We’re in security protocol five with the Prince right now. No unauthorized visitors. Period. I’m sorry Prince Noctis. You should talk to Shield Amicitia or Captain Drautos if you want your friend to visit.” 

“What friend?” Noct demanded. 

“Your school friend,” Guard Leo answered. “The one that was—uh, _here_ earlier this week. Prompto, I believe?” 

“Prompto’s at the gate?” Noctis didn’t understand. Even if he were going to visit, which Noctis still couldn’t believe, he would have called or texted, right? Prompto had said he was grounded. 

Guard Sarah interjected again. “It doesn’t change the fact that he needs the proper clearance—.” 

Noctis interrupted her. “Proper clearance? It’s _Prompto_.” He was already backing up, about to turn around and head towards the gate himself. “You act like my best friend could be an MT in disguise or something. Prompto saved my life. If he’s here, then he gets to see me.” Noctis met the guard’s eyes. “Period.” 

Neither guard answered that, but Noctis was already headed down the hall at a brisk walk. He knew the two guards would radio whoever was at the gate as soon as Noct was gone to warn them that he was coming, but that didn’t matter. They had no right to keep Prompto out as if he were some random citizen, not after everything the blonde had been through. 

Noctis hurried through hallways and past guards. He took a shortcut over a wall in the rose garden and then through the council chamber, coming finally to the inner gate. 

The first thought he had as he saw his friend was that something was definitely wrong with Prompto. The teen was wearing ragged flannel pajama pants and his track sneakers. His shirt was one that Noctis had never seen before, faded and far too large, like maybe it was from when he had still been fat. Noct knew that Prompto was a self-conscious person, his former health problems never far from his mind. He would never have left his house looking like that. _Never._

The blonde’s eyes were downcast, his shoulders tense. His posture was unconsciously defensive, turned so that he had a view of all the guards in the room. He fidgeted with one of his nails. 

“Prompto!” Noctis greeted loudly. 

Prompto’s eyes darted up, and then he responded quietly, tone uncertain and uncomfortable. “Noct, I mean, Prince Noctis. Uh, hi. I didn’t think you were coming. They told me you couldn’t see me.” This was accompanied by a quick sideways glance at the expressionless guards. 

Noctis let his own gaze circle the room with a challenge. “Well, they’re full of shit. It was just a mistake. Come on.” With that, Noct held out his hand to his friend, who accepted it after a short hesitation. The prince just wanted to get them away from prying eyes. Whatever was wrong, Prompto wasn’t going to talk about it in a room full of Crownsguard. 

The highest ranking guard gave him a pained look as they left, but he was clearly unwilling to engage in a power struggle in front of the main gate. Noct was definitely going to hear about this from someone later, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Let them bitch about protocol. 

He kept his grip tight on Prompto’s arm as he led them back through the Citadel. He took the same sideways shortcut, keeping out of the main halls. The last thing he needed was to run into someone high enough on the food chain who could actually yell at him and pull rank. They trampled through a rose bed and down a servant’s quarter, past the main cafeteria kitchen and then out of a back hallway that led to the royal quarters. They popped out of discreet servant’s door next to Guard Sarah and Leo, both of whom were back to arguing. 

“You can't just do whatever you want because it feels right,” Guard Sarah was saying in an angry hiss. She turned as the two teens stumbled out of the door. “Prince Noctis! You’re back—with your friend.” 

“Yep,” Noctis replied cheerily. “If he turns out to be a Niflheimian spy and tries to kill me, I give you full permission to hold it over my head for the rest of eternity. Otherwise, tell anyone who shows up here to fuck off. I don’t want to be disturbed.” 

Prompto’s face had tightened into a strange white pallor while Noct spoke to the guards. Noct wondered if the blonde were really that nervous to finally be inside of the Citadel. Frowning, the prince pulled on Prompto’s hand one again and led his friend into his room. 

*** 

**Ignis** 

*** 

It was still early as Ignis made it to the outer quarter of the city. The sun had just started to set. This was the area of Insomnia that many of the Kingsglaive came from, and where they still often went on their breaks and days off. And Ignis happened to know just who’s day off it was. 

It was one of those beautiful spring evenings were everyone would want to be outside, so Ignis first headed to the Hangman’s Block, a bar with a large beer garden that was a favored spot for Kingsglaive and other lower ranked Citadel workers. 

Strings of lights hung across five long benches and tables in front of the bar. The long tables were only half full as it was still early, barely past dinner time. But there, at the far left table, sat a large group of men and women in black uniforms. Ignis didn’t let himself stare, yet a quick, casual glance told him that the person he was looking for was with the group. 

_Excellent._

Ignis sat down two tables over, not so close that it was awkward, but not so far away that he couldn’t hear them. He faced the other direction, as he didn't want to tempt himself into staring. With an easy grin, he waved down the waiter and ordered a beer, then leaned over the table to chat and flirt with two men who were arguing about whether some store was selling a special brand of malt liquor or not. 

Ignis let himself settle, enjoying the coolness of the beer in his parched throat. He kept one ear on the conversation behind him, and one on the chat he was having with his neighbors. He wasn’t in a rush. His instincts would tell him when the time was right, and true enough, he sensed the conversation hit a lull behind him, so he flagged down the waiter once more, ordering another beer and pointing the man towards the other table. Then he waited. 

“What exactly does an administrative assistant do?” the man next to him was asking. Ignis had not exactly been willing to divulge his true job. 

He let his smile be a secret, small and quick. He was about to answer when a body slid into the space next him, on the other side from his conversation partner. The bench groaned slightly. 

Ignis turned, eyes widening as if he were surprised. 

Hair long and wild, scruff too grown to be a five-a-clock shadow, but too short and unkempt to be a true beard, with a jaw like an ancient marble statue, Nyx Ulrich raised the beer glass he held in a salute. “Just wanted to thank my mysterious benefactor,” he said, his dark eyes bright. They held Ignis’s, brimming with curious intelligence. Ignis felt a wave of relief that the Glaive wasn’t drunk yet. 

Ignis leaned slightly into Ulrich’s space as if he were struggling to hear. “I take it you’re enjoying it?” 

Ulrich gave him a look, then said, “I was drinking liquor earlier, but this is actually my favorite beer.” 

Ignis didn’t answer that. 

“Hangman’s famous for their lagers,” Ulrich continued, his face betraying no emotion other than vacant friendliness. “Would have been a good bet as a gift. But I’m a pilsner guy in warm weather.” His eyes lingered on the light colored beer, clearly a pilsner rather than a lager. Then he raised his gaze back to meet Ignis’s. 

“I notice things,” was the only answer Ignis gave. 

Ignis had been going for flirty, but maybe it really had been too long. Rather than returning the grin, Ulrich’s gaze grew searching. In a far more aggressive tone, he demanded, “Not that I’m not grateful for the drink, but what do you want, Scientia?” 

Ignis refused to cower back. Ulrich was clearly someone who didn’t want to bullshit around. _Fine._

“I was hoping we could go somewhere alone,” he said as he let his hand trail down the table towards Ulrich. The dark-haired man watched the movement warily. “I wanted to apologize to you for what happened the other day.” 

“No apology needed,” Ulrich rebuffed gruffly. But Ignis saw the man’s eyes dart to Ignis’s face, then down his flat chest, and finally landing on his lap, before snapping back up. 

Ignis took a long swallow of his beer, watching Ulrich watch his Adam’s apple bob with the movement. He fought not grin behind his beer glass. “Your loss,” he shrugged. “Either way, I do want to say I’m sorry though.” 

“Should have been prepared for you to make a move. I wasn’t. That was my fault, not yours.” 

Ignis did not believe for a second that Ulrich had not been aware of Ignis the entire fight that night. Every move the Kingsglaive had made had been calculated. “I wasn’t talking about how I pinned you down actually,” Ignis said mildly. He paused to take another long drag of his beer, then he added, “I won't lie and say I didn't enjoy that view.” He gave Ulrich a teasing look, then said more seriously, “I meant more that I didn’t stop it in the first place. We never should have gotten to the point of needing to fight. I should have been able to convince Prince Noctis to return to the Citadel.” 

Ulrich’s eyes glittered. He seemed to have relaxed back down again. Sipping his beer, he replied with a snort, “Look, I know you’re the official bratty prince whisperer or whatever, but even you can't make someone choose not to be a self-destructive asshole when they want to be.” 

Ignis hadn’t expected that. He wasn’t prepared for the uncomfortable way his throat closed. His reply was quiet, almost too quiet to be heard in the clamor of voices. “Perhaps that’s true. But I still have to try.” 

Ulrich huffed but said, “He’s a good kid where it counts.” 

Ignis’s smile was tight. “He is,” he agreed. 

Their eyes met then. Ulrich’s burned brightly, unflinching. 

Ignis had badly underestimated how much he found this man attractive, how want was beginning to curl tightly in his stomach the more he spoke to him. He swallowed thickly, let his tongue briefly flick out between his teeth. Ulrich’s gaze followed the movement unerringly. The Kingsglaive cocked his head. He seemed to be thinking again. Ignis was about to ask him about it, when the Glaive grinned broadly. 

Ulrich moved suddenly. Ignis could have stopped him, but he found he had less than zero desire to do so. The man gripped Ignis with large callused hands, one on each forearm and bodily lifted him up onto the wooden table. Bowls and plates clattered, and someone shouted as Ignis upset his beer glass, but Ignis ignored everything except for the sweep of Ulrich’s mouth. 

The Kingsglaive wasted no time, gripping Ignis by the back of the neck and pulling him into a bruising, aggressive kiss. Somewhere behind them was a chorus of shouts and wolf whistles. Ulrich’s hair was thick and rough but easy to pull on, which Ignis did reflexively. This made Ulrich groan in his mouth and nip at his lips before diving back in. The Glaive pulled Ignis nearly off the edge of the table, while pressing his groin in all the right places. 

“Hey, knock it off!” One of the waiters was jabbing Ignis in the side. He wanted to growl at the man, but Ulrich only laughed ruefully. They were getting a lot glares from their tablemates, one of whom was trying to soak up the puddle of beer that had landed in his lap. Ignis couldn’t make himself be sorry. 

“I think I’ve changed my mind,” Ulrich said, his voice hoarse but warm. “I want to see just what sort of apology you have in mind.” 

Ignis met his eyes boldly. “Then what are you waiting for?” 

Ulrich laughed. “My place is just down the road. Share it with Libertus and a few others when we’re not in the barracks, but they won't bother us. Right?” Ulrich raised his gaze towards his comrades at the other table for that last part. The largest one made a disgusted face and pretended to gag. Ulrich responded with a rude hand gesture, then pulled Ignis off the table. 

He stopped to give Ignis a questioning look, like he was giving the advisor one last opportunity to back out. 

“After you,” Ignis offered. 

Ulrich grinned again. “Alright then.” 

*** 

Ulrich’s shared apartment was messy, but not as bad as Noct’s had sometimes gotten before Ignis moved in. This place had a warm, lived-in quality to it. Rumpled blankets were draped over the sagging living room couch, and old glasses were scattered in all available corners. Ignis barely got a look before he was being led further back, past two closed doors. 

Ulrich’s bedroom was cramped, but bare. It was just that small. A dresser also served as a nightstand next to the bed. The room was clean, the bed made, cover tucked into hospital corners. 

“We just bought it last month,” Ulrich said from behind Ignis as he shut the door. “Still haven’t fully moved out of the barracks.” 

Ignis half expected them to jump right into what they had started at the Hangman’s Block, but Ulrich surprised him. The Glaive sighed, running a hand through his thick dark hair. He seemed tired. Ignis took it upon himself to perch on the bed and wait. 

“What do you really want, Ignis?” Ulrich asked quietly. 

Hearing his given name was startling. Ignis wondered if that had been on purpose. He knew he was taking a huge gamble in that he didn’t actually know very much about Nyx Ulrich. Though his instincts told him otherwise, he knew that Ulrich could just as easily be a part of the conspiracy as anyone else. 

Ignis finally chose to reply indirectly, as much a test of Ulrich as the inability to properly convey his thoughts. “I’ve taken lovers from the Kingsglaive before. Ones much like you, actually.” 

It was true. Ignis usually preferred his lovers to be gruff, honest, and unattached. The exact opposite of his relationship with Noctis. 

Ulrich’s tired expression did not change. “I know. Is that what you want?” 

Ignis thought about the offer for a moment. For all that he preferred his liaisons unattached, he wasn’t sure he ready for that again. Not after Noctis. “I’m not sure,” he replied. 

Ulrich laughed, but it came out a hollow sound. “You’re confusing as hell; you know that?” 

A beat of silence, then, “Why did you let us leave that night?” The question was sudden and sharp. Ignis focused all of his attention on the other man, trying to read every minute detail of Ulrich’s expression. He might be confusing, but the Glaive was downright inscrutable. 

Ulrich crossed his arms over his chest. “Because I didn’t become a Kingsglaive to hunt down and hurt kids.” 

Ignis didn’t point out that Ulrich had in fact done a fair bit of harm to Noct’s face. He had a feeling that bruises weren’t the type of harm Ulrich was referring to. “Noctis isn’t a child,” he said instead. 

“He is in the ways that matter to me.” 

They stared at each other for a moment longer. Ignis’s mind was clear and cold stone sober. He leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “Will you help me?” he asked. 

“Yes.” Ulrich agreed without hesitation. Just like that. He didn’t ask any questions, apparently simply assuming that Ignis was sincere. Though this was the result he’d come here seeking, Ignis felt another wave of doubt. Was he really doing the right thing, trusting everything to this man whom he barely knew? One wrong move and they were all done for. 

_I’ve made my choice._

Ignis closed his eyes. Then he said, “I’m being watched. Or at least, I must assume I am.” Ulrich just held his gaze silently, waiting. So Ignis continued, “I need information. Data. Data, that someone in your position would be in a lot of trouble for getting caught seeking. But I need it.” 

“What do you need?” Ulrich asked. 

Ignis told him. 

When Ignis finished speaking, Ulrich let loose a long and filthy string of swear words, and Ignis made no move to stop him. Ulrich had long since joined him on the bed, sitting cross-legged and easy. The Glaive leaned back on his palms, staring up at the ceiling. “The shit I get myself into,” he swore. 

“Can you do it?” Ignis asked. 

Ulrich didn’t answer right away, which Ignis appreciated. Finally, he said, “I’ll need some time. I’m not usually the sort to sneak around and hold secrets.” 

“We might not have much time.” 

“Doesn’t change the fact that I need it.” 

Ignis nodded. “I understand.” 

Ulrich met Ignis’s eyes again. The dark-haired man sat back up, then very slowly leaned forward. Ignis held incredibly still. 

The kiss that Ulrich pressed against Ignis was far sweeter that his earlier attack, a gentle press of his lips. Ignis met him eagerly, then opened up with a low moan. Ulrich, Nyx, reached up and cradled Ignis’s head, drawing him closer. 

The Glaive whispered, “What do you want, Ignis?” His breath ghosted over Ignis’s lips, hot and promising. 

Ignis was surprised at himself for how quickly he had responded to Nyx’s kiss. It made him realize how tired and heartsick he really was. Ever since he and Noctis had fled the Citadel, he’d had no rest, no time for himself, and suddenly, he wanted nothing but to feel good. Just that. Simple and easy. Maybe he had absorbed more of Gladio’s mindset than he had realized. “I want you to fuck me hard and slow,” he said. “I want to come on your cock alone.” 

Nyx shuddered at the murmured words. “Astrals, you don’t fuck around.” 

“Can you do it?” Ignis demanded, calling back to their earlier conversation. 

This time Nyx was far less hesitant. He abruptly pushed Ignis, forcing the other man down onto his back. “Just watch me,” he promised. 

True to his word, Nyx took his time opening Ignis up. Despite his desire, Ignis still felt a strange wave of sorrow when the Glaive first breached him. For some reason, his brain helpfully provided an image of Gladio doing the same, the larger man’s teasing grin. Gladio’s fingers were thicker than Nyx’s, and he had been constantly looking away, towards Noctis, never letting Ignis forget who was watching. 

Nyx’s stare was intent, unwavering. He moved slowly and methodically, stopping often to survey his work until Ignis was hard and straining against him, panting from need. Nyx remained mostly silent, but, Ignis couldn’t stop comparing it to Gladio’s constant babbling, Noctis’s whispered assurances. 

“You’re not very good at staying in the present, are you?” Nyx suddenly asked. The Glaive had two fingers crooked in Ignis’s ass as he spoke. 

“What?” Ignis blinked at him. He wiggled a bit, trying to get any sort of friction. 

“When do you just let go, Ignis? Just let go and enjoy the moment?” 

Ignis wasn’t quite sure what was being asked of him, a state he didn’t find himself in very often. Let go? Wasn’t that what he was doing right now? Trying not to feel anything but his body? 

_The last time he had truly let go was with Noctis and Gladio, when the prince had whispered “Yes” against Ignis’s mouth._

Nyx had a thoughtful look in his eyes. “The last time you fucked was when you finally formed the Covenant with Noctis, right?” 

The man was eerily close to Ignis’s thoughts. Ignis stared at him. Despite the role the advisor had played in Noct’s rescue, few people had realized that Ignis also had a connection with the prince. Gladio was more obvious. The Shield couldn’t have hidden how he’d been found in bed with the prince and then later defeated in battle due to his post-coital magical exhaustion. 

Nyx beheld Ignis with a knowing look. “You’ve never felt anything that intense in your life, have you? No barriers, intimacy so perfect and pleasurable that it borders on pain.” Nyx had gone back to pumping his fingers in and out of Ignis as he spoke, and Ignis couldn’t help how he arched into the touch. Nyx refused to let up, talking through his partner’s renewed panting. “You know, nothing in your life will ever compare to that moment.” 

Noctis was the last thing Ignis wanted to think about right now. He hissed, “Is this supposed to turn me on?” 

Nyx only grinned, stopping again, much to the advisor’s frustration. “Only speaking truth, darling. But you know, we Kingsglaive learn a lot of different tricks from our benevolent king.” He removed his fingers and leaned down, pressing his entire body atop Ignis’s, slotting them together. With his mouth over Ignis’s ear, the Glaive whispered, “We’re not supposed to do this, you know. Waste of magic. But everyone who can does it anyway. How could you not?” 

And before Ignis could ask him just what the hell the Glaive was going on about, the older man showed him. Nyx dragged his fingers down Ignis’s shoulders and arms, his grip digging in, and Ignis saw stars. 

Everywhere the Glaive touched him, Ignis’s skin burst with sparks, all sensations dialed up to eleven. The crystal’s magic was life, stolen life perhaps, but it was like a shard of ice in his veins, a clarity of vision and sound, and everywhere it touched Ignis, he threatened to burn away. 

Ignis actually cried out, a ringing cross between a moan and a shout that Nyx stifled with his mouth over the dusty brunette’s. Nyx laughed as he sucked hard on Ignis’s lips and then pulled away to explain to the shocked man, “It’s hard to do, and not all the Glaives can. You’re only supposed to call the magic when you need to warp or draw your weapon, but if you kinda hover on the precipice, it’s well, you know—.” 

“Holy fuck,” Ignis gasped. It wasn’t the same as with Noctis. Noctis’s magic had gone and hooked into Ignis’s very soul. But this was a shadow of that. A shadow that sent a line of pleasure straight to his dick. 

“You should try it with the Amicitia heir,” Nyx said with a teasing grin. “It’s even better when you’re both covenanted.” 

“I am covenanted,” Ignis replied, shifting restlessly under the Glaive. Clearly, both he and Nyx had a connection to the crystal. He ignored the thought of Gladio. The Shield had only ever interested him that way in terms of the effect he clearly had on Noctis. But Ignis didn’t want to think about that right now. Not when sensations were curling their way through his body, wrapping him in a haze of need. 

“I thought it wouldn’t have mattered to whom,” Nyx admitted as he thoughtfully ran his hands across Ignis’s chest. He wasn’t drawing on the magic anymore, but even the memory of it was enough to keep Ignis’s heart racing. “But I can feel the difference. We’re not connected in the same way. Belong to different kings, I guess.” 

“You’re stalling,” Ignis complained petulantly. 

“Am I?” Nyx shifted, settling back onto his knees in between Ignis’s spread legs. He placed both hands on Ignis’s hips, holding the advisor tightly. This entire time, he had not once so much as brushed a stray finger against Ignis’s dick. Perhaps perversely, Ignis found his own overwhelming and completely ignored need to be touched exquisite. 

With a wicked grin, Nyx used the leverage he had to flip Ignis over onto his stomach. The Glaive didn’t give him much time to adjust, drawing him up onto his elbows and knees, and slamming two fingers back into the trembling advisor. Ignis knew it was coming, but he couldn’t stop the full body shout he exhaled as Nyx stroked him with the burning touch of magic. It was different than the earlier press against his arms, somehow more. Like a jolt of adrenaline, a jagged arc of lightening, inescapable, radiating from a place so deep inside of him. It actually hurt, it was so intense. 

Nyx had no way to quiet Ignis in their current position, and he didn’t try. Ignis shouted and screamed as the firm, stroking touch inside of him went on and on. Too much. It was too much. 

Ignis came with a shuddering cry, his dick spasming and jerking against his stomach. 

Still, Nyx gave him no reprieve. Though he did let the magic bleed out of his hands, to which Ignis was grateful for. If he hadn’t, Ignis might actually have died from overstimulation. But Nyx refused to let Ignis collapse into the puddle he was trying to become as his muscles trembled in aftershock. Instead, the Glaive held him tighter. 

Nyx reached forward with one hand to brace himself, while pulling Ignis’s hip back with the other. While the advisor was still racking in aftershocks, he entered him in one long, simple stroke. Nyx didn’t slam all the way in, but he wasn’t teasingly slow either. He just kept drawing Ignis back onto his dick, until the advisor was forced to shift his weight or risk collapsing onto his face. 

Two fingers had not been enough. Ignis had noticed earlier that Nyx had an impressive dick. Shorter than Noctis’s had been, but thick and heavy, and that thickness was serving to split Ignis open now, make him feel full to bursting. 

When he was fully sheathed, his balls nestled against Ignis, Nyx paused. The Glaive had one hand still tight on Ignis’s hip, the other gripping his upper arm. For a few seconds, the only sounds that punctured the silence were Nyx’s quick, shallow breathing and Ignis’s far more unsteady rasping noises. Ignis’s balls ached where the pressure of Nyx’s cock was too much on his sensitive flesh. 

Nyx inhaled one more deep breath, then pulled Ignis back by his forearm while shallowly thrusting his hips forward. 

One arm pulled tightly behind his back, Ignis had only one arm to hold him up, and it turned out to not be enough. He collapsed onto his face with an oomph noise. The Glaive did not stop his movement for Ignis, and something thrilled inside of the advisor at the thought of being roughly used like this. 

Keeping his shallow rutting going, Nyx tightened his grip and then leaned over slightly, resting a good bit of his weight on Ignis, crushing the advisor’s weight into the mattress. “Can I trust you to tell me if you don’t want to do something?” Nyx asked him. 

Ignis groaned wordlessly. Nyx retaliated with a sharper, harder thrust. “Ignis, darling. Use your words.” 

Ignis managed to finally twist his head to meet Nyx’s. He had not missed how Nyx had made answering the Glaive nearly impossible by squishing him so tightly against the mattress. Nyx knew that he knew too, judging by the innocent grin he wore. 

“Trust me. I’d allow no one to do to me what I didn’t wish them to.” 

“Good,” Nyx said, and then he leaned even further forward. Ignis could feel him rummaging around in the dresser. He didn’t appreciate how Nyx’s cock had nearly fallen out of his ass as the Glaive stretched up. 

But then he was moving back, taking Ignis with him. And he had something in his hand, something worn and black. He let his cock nestle back against Ignis’s hole, the head just barely, maddeningly pushed in. 

One hand still holding Ignis’s forearm, Nyx reached for Ignis’s other arm, drawing the advisor back. Ignis gasped with sudden realization as the Glaive wasted no time in wrapping his delicate wrists, clasping his long fingers together. Ignis trembled and vibrated in anticipation. His spent dick waggled a bit with renewed interest. It had never occurred to him that this encounter could go in such a kinky direction, but he should have remembered how sexually liberated and free Kingsglaive tended to be. You had to be, to sign up for the kind of job they did. He felt giddy wondering if Nyx was planning on attempting to make him come untouched again. 

When the Glaive was finished, Ignis twisted to look at the other man’s work. His wrists were securely bound, a knot he recognized that he would not be able to undo alone. The ends of the rope extended from where his wrists came together behind his back, and Nyx held them like a leash. 

“I can do whatever I want with you now, darling.” Nyx said in a lilting, mischievous voice. 

Because he could and because he knew how the Kingsglaive would react, Ignis jerked his head back, slamming against Nyx’s face, not as hard as he could have, but hard enough. At the same time, he twisted one leg from where it was bracketed by the Glaive, and he tried to contort himself away. 

The rope jerked Ignis so hard that he fell splayed sideways. His shoulder joints ached at the uncomfortable angle. He panted, snarling at Nyx. The rope end was long enough that Nyx was able to flick it across Ignis’s ass, leaving a stinging burn in its wake. He did it again, laughing at Ignis’s expression. Then he lifted Ignis back up like a rag doll by his bound wrists. The way he had fallen, Ignis had no balance, and as he scrambled to get his legs back under himself while hanging off of Nyx, the Glaive entered him in one slamming stoke. This time it was violent. Ignis let out another oomph as the breath was shoved out of him. 

Ignis tried to lift his face, to somehow hold himself up, but Nyx shoved him forward as he began to rut, once again mashing Ignis’s face into the mattress. Ignis could barely breath as Nyx slammed into him over and over again, picking up a deep and steady pace. Every stroke had the Glaive nearly pulling out and shoving back in. Ignis could do nothing but take the abuse. 

True to his word, Nyx kept up the even pace, working Ignis like he had all the time in the world, just slow enough that Ignis knew he would never get off like this. But every drag of Nyx’s cock brushed faintly against his nerves, sending jitters through his muscles. 

For a few minutes, the pressure of the mattress rubbed against his dick, poorly mimicking true touch, but at least giving him some relief. But Nyx realized it too, and he drew Ignis roughly up in between thrusts, forcing him to bend deeply at waist so that the very tip of his cock barely touched the mattress every few strokes. Somehow that was worse than not being touched at all, and Ignis whined, babbling and cursing. He tried to push back against Nyx, to force the Glaive to increase the pace, but he still had no leverage. It was futile. The Kingsglaive just kept fucking him steadily. 

How the hell did Nyx have this kind of stamina? It wasn’t human. The longer this torturous pace went, the more Ignis was reduced to scrabbling mess, the more he felt like he was breaking into pieces. He might have orgasmed anyway, just from the shear length of time he was being fucked, but his earlier release undid that. His dick quivered and bobbed, once more leaking pre-cum and begging for touch. 

He could tell that Nyx was finally starting to come undone as well when that dragging, steady pace finally began to stutter. Nyx’s sounds grew more animalistic, and finally he reached forward with a deep groan. He took a fistful of Ignis’s hair, short but still grabable, and yanked the advisor back fiercely. 

Ignis relished the shocking pain. Suddenly he was trapped in Nyx’s lap, splayed there, hands trapped behind himself. Nyx forced him into an arc, pulling his wrists down and his head back. Ignis was still crying, begging, but Nyx shushed him. The Glaive withdrew his grip from Ignis’s wrists, instead reaching around to fondle his nipples. Ignis arched even further, back bent like a bow string. He had lost all fine motor control, reduced to a creature of mere instincts and reactions. 

The Glaive turned Ignis’s head by pulling his hair, then bit his ear just as he pinched his nipple. “Fuck!” Ignis ground himself hard against Nyx’s lap, but he was immediately punished for that, the Glaive taking his grip on the advisor’s hair and yanking hard, for the first time intending to cause pain. 

“None of that now,” he warned. “Be still.” 

Ignis whined wordlessly but he did his best to behave. Every muscle in Ignis’s body was pulled taunt. He was so close. Even this pause was doing nothing to bring him down. He was going to die like this, he wasn’t going to be able to hold out—. 

Nyx pushed Ignis’s arching torso back against himself until they were fully flush against each other. He finally began to thrust again, shallowly, their angle keeping him more rolling his hips than anything else. Everywhere Ignis could feel the other man’s skin burning his, sweat slicked and warm. Nyx once again reach for his nipple, rubbing the sensitive nub. The Glaive mouthed against his neck, his grip in Ignis’s hair as tight and painful as ever. 

There was a sudden smell of something sharp and ozone like. It prickled across Ignis’s skin, raising sweat-damp hair. “What—?” he began, but then his mind whited out. Magic suffused him. Burning and alien, it branded him. Pleasure hit him in radiating waves as Ignis came for the second time that night. Time seemed to stop as the orgasm went on and on. It seemed an eternity later that Ignis finally slumped bonelessly. 

Nyx’s fist was clenching and unclenching around Ignis’s nipple, when the advisor regained a bit of awareness. The Glaive sounded like he was barely capable of breathing, but Ignis couldn’t feel that telltale warmth of splashing come inside of himself. Had he missed Nyx’s release due to his own orgasm? 

But then Nyx was moving again, finally fast and hard just Ignis could no longer take it. He let go of Ignis chest and neck, instead roughly jerking his hips back and up as he slammed forward. Without his hands, Ignis had no choice but to fall face down while Nyx fucked into him relentlessly. Nyx wasn’t trying to hold him up anymore, only chasing his own release. Ignis’s body screamed at him, nerves white hot. His hips and legs jerked without his permission, doing everything possible to expel this foreign invasion. He had thought being fucked through his previous orgasm was too much to bear, but he had known nothing. “I can't!” he gasped. _“Please.”_

Ignis’s inner muscles spasmed, clenching tightly around Nyx. The other stumbled in his pounding before resuming his rhythm. 

He couldn’t focus on anything but the way Nyx was overstimulating his nerves, the way the instinct to get away from the drag of the Glaive’s cock seared in his mind. How he couldn’t obey that instinct. How his body rebelled, screaming at him until there was a hot rush of pleasure tingling and pulsing out from his core. This new orgasm was dry, yanked out of him by Nyx’s relentless cock. 

The Kingsglaive finally came undone as Ignis’s inner walls squeezed him once more like a vice grip, and then he was pulsing inside of Ignis. The Glaive came and came, making up for lost time, moving back and forth in short, quivering thrusts, each snap forward another pulse of come until Ignis could practically hear himself squelching. Ignis shuddered underneath him. 

Nyx finally stopped moving, and his entire body collapsed on top of Ignis. 

They lay there for a few heart stopping moments before Nyx pulled out, quickly and efficiently untying Ignis’s bonds. A line of aches was already working its way from the tops of Ignis’s shoulder blades down his back where his muscles had spent so long pulled taunt. He’d feel that tomorrow. He also didn’t particularly care. 

Nyx cleaned them up. Neither one felt to the need to really talk besides the basics, and soon they were both curled in the bed, completely spent and satiated. “Worth it,” Nyx declared and then rolled over. His breathing almost immediately evened out, much to Ignis’s envy. 

Ignis made himself lay there and at least attempt to join the Kingsglaive in sleep. His body was satisfied and tired, but his mind refused to cooperate. 

_Noctis._

Why he was obsessively thinking about the prince after having just had the brains fucked out of him, he had no idea. He might have finally admitted his ow attraction to Noct, but that had never stopped him before from his previous dalliances. Even though magic had been involved both times here, the experiences couldn’t be more different. 

He thought about Noctis sitting next to him in the Regalia, slim hands trailing across the dashboard. Noct’s easy, open grin, how precious that unguarded moment had been. How desperately Ignis had wanted to devour him. 

Nyx was an excellent lay. He’d been considerate and inspired and everything Ignis could have ever wanted. If he were being honest with himself, Ignis would have to admit that Nyx had been more skilled at bringing him to his release than Noctis had been, and yet Ignis was suddenly wishing with all of his being that a different person was lying next to him. Despite all of his fears and insecurities, Noctis had stared into Ignis’s eyes, had trembled above him, had laid all of his vulnerabilities in front of Ignis and trusted the advisor to take care of him. 

Noctis had given Ignis a little piece of himself, something neither of them could ever take back. 

What had the Kingsglaive said? _Nothing in your life will ever compare to that moment?_ The man had no idea how right he was. Even now, three amazing orgasms later, Ignis could not hide from the hollow feeling in his chest, the strange guilt that wound its way through him, like he had somehow betrayed Noct tonight. 

Noctis had no claim to him, and he none to the prince. He knew that. His attraction to the teenager was dangerous and wrong. They were supposed to move on with their lives, and if Ignis wanted to fuck this Kingsglaive, then he had every right. 

So why the hell did he still feel so miserable? 

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *As always, thank you so, so much for the support. I can sometimes be kinda slow at replying, but I adore every comment, from the the three words of encouragement, to the essays that some of you write. I love you all. :)


	7. An Act of Creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis and Prompto both make a catastrophic decision. Ignis reads philosophy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please read the trigger warning carefully. Though there have been some non-con themes already, this is the chapter I was thinking about when I first warned of this fic being a lot darker that the previous. If that is your trigger in any way, please check out the end note. I also wrote a soapbox special down there for those who care. Like I did in an earlier chapter, I will summarize this one when I post the next chapter. 
> 
> *Also this chapter briefly references the framing device of the Tin Soldier short story that is part two of the series. Just pretend like it makes sense if you didn't read that, lol.

*** 

“And the sins of the fathers shall be  
visited upon the heads of the children,  
even unto the third and fourth  
generation of them that hate me." 

Well, then I hate thee, unrighteous picture;  
Wicked image, I hate thee;  
So, strike with thy vengeance  
The heads of those little men  
Who come blindly.  
It will be a brave thing.”

-Stephen Crane

*** 

**Noctis** 

*** 

When Noctis was thirteen, Ignis made him read a string of books on philosophy and morality. Naturally, he detested every single one more than the last. He just didn’t have a head for that sort of thing, not that Ignis was ever willing to admit defeat. 

One particular time, Noctis read the latest treatise out loud, painfully slowly, “So act in such a way that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, never merely as a means to an end, but always at the same time as an end.” He groaned. “This is so stupid. It doesn’t make any sense, Iggy.” 

Ignis did not roll his eyes, but he might as well have. “Of course it does. He’s saying it is immoral to treat yourself or those around you as merely a vessel for others’ needs or pleasure.” 

Noctis thought about that for a minute. “But how is that immoral? Isn’t that what my dad does? What I’ll eventually do?” 

Ignis suddenly looked rather uncomfortable as Noctis continued heedlessly, “I mean, it’s not doing him any good to be a human battery for the wall. I would say that’s treating him as a mere means to an end if I ever heard of one. Are you saying everyone who asks him to make that sacrifice is immoral?” 

Ignis stared at his charge contemplatively. “Do you think so, Noctis?” 

Noctis was thirteen and tired of reading complicated books. Instead of answering, he asked if he could be excused for day, and Ignis reluctantly relented. 

*** 

**Prompto** 

*** 

There was something wrong with Noctis. 

Prompto didn’t exactly know what, but that didn’t stop his gut from insisting that it was true. When Noctis had grabbed Prompto’s hand in the entrance way, it had felt like touching a live wire. Not that Prompto had tried touching a live wire before. But it was the only comparison his mind could come up with to explain the way his heart had stuttered, how every ounce of his attention had helplessly gravitated toward the press of the prince’s fingers, the warmth of his palm. 

It wasn’t just some stupid physical reaction from Prompto’s crush. Prompto and Noctis were often physically close to each other, bumping fists, and leaning into each other on the couch. This was something else. Something raw. 

But Prompto had no idea how to ask about the strange hand tingling phenomena, and Noctis didn’t seem to have noticed anything wrong, so the blonde remained silent as he was led through the twisting corridors of the Citadel and into Noct’s room. As soon as Noctis closed the door behind them, he dropped Prompto’s hand to instead collapse on the bed with a petulant sigh. 

Prompto stared at the opulence around him. _So this was Noctis’s room._ The bed was massive and had those pillar things for hanging a fancy curtain. The curtained pillars had a name, but Prompto couldn’t remember what it was. Above the bed, crown molding danced across the ceiling with an intricately carved woodland theme, the grooves of the carving offset with flecks of gold. Dark stained bookshelves covered one wall, and floor to ceiling windows the other. From that side came warm natural lighting and a glass door that led to wide balcony overlooking a laurel tree. 

This room represented everything that separated Noctis and him. What had it been like to grow up in this luxury, this beauty? It made Prompto feel grubby and small by comparison. He was especially drawn to the heavy bookshelves. Prompto had always loved to read growing up, but his parents couldn't afford to buy books at the rate he had read them. He couldn't imagine Noctis’s father having the same problem. 

One of the shelves had stacks and stack of comic books wrapped in plastic sleeves. Prompto could see rows of consecutive issues, a virtual fortune of superheroes. One in particular caught his eyes, as it had a book spine, though it rested with the wrapped comics. He reached, almost without thinking, running his finger down the thin spine. A children’s book, glossy and colorful, _The Toymaker and his Tin Soldier_ , Prompto’s favorite story growing up. His father used to read it to him over and over, always with an indulgent sigh as Prompto begged for just one more time. 

“Urgh, my dad loved that book,” came Noctis’s voice from behind Prompto. 

It took Prompto a second to pull himself away from his thoughts and comprehend the words. “What?” 

“The Toymaker and the Tin Soldier, right? My dad used to read it to me all the time, even though I always wanted to read about Beor the Dragon Slayer or whatever.” 

Somehow Prompto’s mind refused to supply the image of the King of Lucis doing something as mundane as reading a children’s book. His picture of Noctis’s childhood looked remarkably like Noct’s young-adulthood, where the prince was surround by attendants and Ignis seemed to act as parent, best friend, advisor, and tutor all in one. 

Prompto drew the book out and flipped the pages. Noct’s copy was vastly different from his own. Whereas Prompto’s was dog eared and faded with use, Noct’s still had stiff pages, despite his insistence that his father had read it to him all the time. The illustrations were different too, more colorful and intricate, and when Prompto traced one with his finger, he felt the ridges of paint. They were hand illustrated. 

Did Noctis realize how precious such a thing was? 

Prompto’s eyes ran down the page he was currently on, the Goddess Shiva drawn in glittering detail, standing over the distraught toymaker and his lifeless son. _“Your son was foolish to leave all the things that made him a boy behind and seek out war.”_

As a child he had always agreed with Shiva. Clearly the tin soldier had been selfish to leave the toymaker behind. Now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe it was the toymaker who was selfish, to create a living, thinking thing for the sole purpose of fulfilling his own needs. 

With a sigh, Prompto returned the book to the shelf, then turned to face Noctis. 

When he saw that Prompto’s attention was back with him, Noctis sat up. “Why didn’t you text me?” the prince demanded. He immediately seemed to realize how harsh his words had come out, because he winced and backpedaled. “I mean, I’m really glad to see you. I just—.” 

Prompto tried to gather himself and focus on Noctis, despite how the words and events of the day were swirling inside of him. “I left my phone at home.” Prompto shrugged awkwardly, knowing that wasn’t an explanation at all. He tentatively walked closer to the bed, and when Noctis didn’t seem to mind, he perched on the edge. He couldn’t keep his legs from staying tense, ready to springboard him back up at the slightest sign of displeasure from Noct. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to have an easiness that defied their opposing stations in life. But that easiness was mostly a product of Prompto’s giving nature, and right now, he couldn’t seem to pull himself together. 

“Okay?” Noctis eyes flicked up and then away. He clearly wanted to demand a better answer, and either didn’t know how or wasn’t sure if he was allowed to do so. But then he surprised Prompto. “Are you okay?” Noctis asked in a rush. “Well actually, I know you’re not okay, and I have no right to—I mean, you have every right to be furious with me. Shit, I don’t even know what to say. You were put in danger because of me—.” 

“Noctis,” Prompto interrupted firmly. It wasn’t Noctis who was normally insecure or socially awkward. Silent and shy, sure, but never this babbling mess. “I told you, I don’t blame you for that. I never did. And I—look, some things have been happening at home, and I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it yet.” 

He knew he should have been prepared with a better answer for what was going on with him. It had seemed like such and obvious choice at the time to come here with the thoughtlessly cruel words of the track team rattling around in his brain. Maybe Noctis would finally talk to him about some of the truths that had led to the kidnapping. But now that he was here, he realized he had no idea how to ask about it, and he had no idea how to confess his own troubles. 

Noctis frowned. “But you’re—you showed up here in your freaking pajamas, without even a phone. You can't just expect me to ignore that.” 

Prompto felt a wave of irritation. It made him snap before his brain could really catch up with his mouth. “Actually, I expect you to give me the same space I’ve been giving you these past few weeks. Unless you want to talk about that Covenant with me.” He gave the prince a pointed look. 

Noctis’s eyes widened in shock at Prompto’s words. He never snapped at Noctis. _Never._ As Noctis stared at him, Prompto felt his face flush with warmth, and he jerked his head away. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all. He had come here searching for answers, but he truly had no idea of how to ask for them. 

“Music.” 

“What?” asked Noctis. 

“Music. Can we just listen to music or something for a little bit?” Prompto’s mind was a mess. 

“Sure. Okay.” Noctis got up to retrieve a small remote. Of course, the prince had a fancy surround sound system. As he pressed the button, several lights flashed on, and then some shitty Altissian pop song began to vibrate the walls. That was fine with Prompto. He made himself relax and lean back on the bed, eyes up at the ceiling. Noctis’s ceiling was painted with glittering stars, brilliantly mimicking the night sky. As a city boy, it wasn’t a sight that Prompto had ever experienced in real life. 

Prompto didn’t move as he felt the bed dip. The bed was large enough that Noct was able to lie down next to him without intruding into his space. Neither spoke as one song ended, then another, and then another. 

There was a slight peppery, cinnamon smell in the air that Prompto recognized as intimately Noctis. He could feel Noct’s heat so close to him, and he thought, _this—when we leave, I’ll never feel this again. I’ll never see him smile, never tease him for how petulant he gets when I beat him at videogames._

_I’ll never know if my friendship with him is something I wanted for myself or something someone programmed into me._

“Noct?” 

“Hmn?” 

Prompto couldn’t bear to look at his friend, so he didn’t. “What if you were friends with someone, and you valued that friendship more than any other relationship in your life. But you knew that your friendship put them in danger. Wouldn’t the best, the most selfless thing to do be to let them go?” 

Noctis took a long time to answer, and when he did, his voice had strange choked quality to it. “I would say that you don’t get to decide that for other people. And that you devalue that person you love when you take away their right to choose for themselves.” 

Prompto doubted that Noct, who tended to lack emotional self-awareness, had come up with that alone. “Who told you that?” 

“Iggy.” 

Prompto snorted at that, but not in a cruel way. “Makes sense.” 

“Besides,” Noctis continued, a hint of indignation in his voice, “how the hell are you putting me in danger?” 

Prompto didn’t answer, instead letting the beat of the music wash over him again. He didn’t comment on the fact that Noct had just assumed that the important person Prompto was talking about was him. Maybe it was pathetic that it was so obvious that Prompto had so few real friends, but he couldn’t blame Noct for that truth. 

When it became clear that Prompto wasn’t going to answer, Noctis said insistently, “You didn’t put me in danger Prompto. I know you think because you were taken hostage, it’s somehow your fault. But that’s bullshit. Gladio’s my freaking bodyguard and they were still able to use him against me. Plus, you’re the one who shot that fuck in the end. You saved me. That’s like, the opposite of danger.” 

The blonde wasn’t sure how to ask the question that sat at the back of his throat. “No one’s asked me about what I did. Not really. Whether it was—.” _Am I a monster? Do you wonder what sort of soul a person has, who can do a thing like that?_

Prompto felt Noctis shift next to him. He wondered if he even wanted Noctis to ask him what was going on in his head before he shot Viktor. What good would that do now, except to push the conversation dangerously close to Prompto’s unexplained abilities? 

However, Prompto was once more hit with the yawning realization that he was leaving. This might be the last time he ever saw Noctis. What did it matter what dangerous territory they did or did not creep near? He was about to once again be entirely alone. After all, he had no illusions about how often his parents would be around. They would fine some new place to hide, and then they would leave him there to await their return, like a pet dog. 

_I don’t want that._ He had never wanted it. But there was something about saying it to himself, about spelling it out firmly _. I don’t want to leave Lucis or Noctis._ What would he do to keep that from happening? What could he do? Running away had been a thoughtless reaction. He had never expected to stay away forever. At sixteen, it wasn’t like he could just start a life on his own. For all that he had raised himself, his parents had always made sure the bills were paid, that Prompto had the cash to feed and clothe himself. 

Interrupting Prompto’s thoughts, the prince suddenly spoke in a flat voice, “I’ve been dreaming about the first guy I killed coming out of the elevator. The sound his insides made against my sword. Sometimes it hits me during the day too. Like I’m monster not just for what I did, but because I let myself forget about it sometimes.” 

The music continued to play some upbeat track as they both allowed the confession sit for a minute, neither one moving, and then Prompto felt the words bubbling up inside of him. He probably should have said something reassuring to Noctis, something to assure the prince that he had been fighting for his life. It had been justified, and he had nothing to be sorry about. But Prompto said none of those things. Instead, he gave Noctis a truth of his own in return. 

“It was easy,” he whispered. These were words that he hadn’t even known he had, buried so deeply and so painfully that they might never have surfaced if not for this strange moment lying on Noct’s billion thread count sheets and listening to crap pop music. “Like shooting a zombie in an arcade game. Just point and pow. I didn’t think about whether he deserved to die or not. I just did it.” He stopped and then added, “And I wasn’t sorry.” 

The yawning hole that had carved itself into Prompto’s chest the moment he had pulled the trigger threatened to tear him open. He felt both painfully numb and like he was about to collapse into a sobbing mess. 

Next to him, Noctis replied bitterly, “Gladio told me once, that only reason you can even have thoughts like that it because you’re alive. And to never be sorry that that’s the case.” 

“Does that help you sleep at night?” 

“No.” The answer was sharp and emotionless. Noctis sat up suddenly. His fingers were jittery. There was abruptly a strange quality to the air around them, like the smell of burnt sunlight. 

“Are you okay?” Prompto asked as he curled back up in a sitting position as well. 

Noctis shook his head. “No. Not really.” His eyes held Prompto’s, and his irises caught the ambient light strangely, making them appear almost purple instead of their usual deep blue. “Are you?” 

Prompto could only laugh. _Help me,_ he wanted to beg. _Tell me I can stay here forever._ “No. Not really.” 

Noctis’s foot tapped against the bed spread. Usually Noct was the still one, so it was strange to see him so worked up. “Will you just hang out with me for a while?” asked the prince. 

Prompto wanted nothing more. “Yeah, okay.” 

Noct’s smile curled shyly. “Thanks.” 

*** 

**Noctis** 

*** 

After they decided to just hang out together, Noctis pulled out a pack of cards, and they played stupid games on his bed, not really speaking about anything bordering on serious or important. 

“The Boulder is clearly the best character in Death Combat Unlimited VII,” insisted Prompto passionately. “Up, up, square, X, left trigger, triangle is impossible to counter!” 

“Unless you have Ms. Megaton. Her ultimate move totally counters his. Come on!” 

“Who the fuck uses Ms. Megaton though? Uhhh, no one.” Prompto jabbed at Noctis smugly. “I’m right and you’re wrong.” 

“Anyone who wants to smash the Boulder to pieces, that’s who uses Ms. Megaton. And her whip thing is totally cool.” 

Several hours passed that way. At one point, a guard knocked on the door, asking if Noctis wanted food brought to him. The look the guard gave them was pained, and Noctis briefly wondered if there was some event he was missing right now that the guard was too polite or shy to remind him about. _Oh well._

They ate on the bed, a simple plate of sandwiches, then went back to aimless card games. The afternoon slowly sank into early night, and Prompto’s boisterous energy faded with it. 

Noct himself had to fight to keep his mind on task. This was the longest he had ever felt his magic remain active without his permission. The longest he had gone without either succumbing and using it somehow or feeling it fade away into the recesses of his mind. He wanted to blame Gladio’s desire to experiment. But the Shield had also wanted to burn away Noct’s magic energy with exercise, and Noct had refused. He couldn’t be angry with Gladio that he was now dealing with the consequences. 

The difficulty had something to do with Prompto. Every time they accidently brushed against each other, Noct’s magic leapt up, like a bird snapping into flight. Every time their eyes met Noct had the urge bring the Crystal’s magic to the surface of his skin, to let it sparkle around him, to capture Prompto within it. 

It was ridiculous. 

He thought about going into the bathroom and jerking off or something, but he was terrified that Prompto would somehow know what was going on. After all, Gladio had always known. 

Noctis stared at his friend, his beautiful, fragile friend. He thought about how the blonde had come here in his pajamas and nearly nothing else, refusing to answer any questions, though something had clearly happened. Was it his parents? Gods, it burned that there was something so obviously wrong, and yet, Prompto wouldn’t so much as hint at the problem. It wasn’t fair. Weren’t they friends? Wasn’t that what Noct was expected to do, to help him? Why didn’t Prompto trust him? 

The way Prompto kept looking at him, so seriously, so intently, it was like he was trying to memorize Noct’s face. Noctis watched the blonde collect the cards as they finished yet another round of the silly game they were playing. “Hey, Prom?” 

“What?” 

“Your parents didn't, like, ban you from seeing me right? Your mom was pretty mad…” 

Prompto’s eyes widened, his mouth falling slightly open. Then he said, “No. They didn’t ban me from hanging out with you.” 

_He was lying._ Prompto was lying through his teeth. 

Noctis fought back his indignation and outrage that his friend would lie so directly to his face. He put on his best reassuring smile. “Look, I know your parents are a bit nuts, but they’re never around, right? We can just pretend to obey them when they’re home. If I talk to Iggy, I’m sure he’ll help us too. He’s the best wing man on the planet.” 

“Noctis.” Prompto squeezed his eyes shut. He turned away, but not before Noctis saw the tears spill from the corner of his eyes. 

Desperation rose up in Noctis. He felt a tongue of silver-blue magic arc around him and disappear. 

“Please,” whispered Prompto. “Can't we just be together? Can't we just enjoy what we have right now?” 

“No!” Noct was starting to lose control of his breathing, air pumping in and out in short, painful bursts. His voice rose, “What are you talking about? If your parents are being unjust then you have to fight it! You can't just give in.” 

“Because you always tell your dad to fuck off when he makes you do unfair shit?” 

“That’s different!” 

Prompto finally looked at Noctis again, and his expression was not impressed. 

Noctis felt his heart sink. The way Prompto was acting, it was as if he didn’t want to fight his parents. As if he didn’t think their friendship was worth fighting for. The prince swallowed, felt his hands tremble, and then he clenched them again. 

He would not cry. Not even Prompto should have that power over him. 

A familiar cold sort of feeling began to wash across his thoughts. He stilled himself, biting everything back until he was a glass lake, smooth and impenetrable. He faded to somewhere far away, where his hurt was a small, foreign thing. But something was breaking inside of him, and that was when he heard it. 

_Take him._

Noctis blinked in an attempt to clear his head. 

_Take him. Take him,_ a voice whispered in Noct’s ears. _He’s yours. He’s already chosen you. Show him, bind him to you._

His heartbeat thudded. _Take him. Take him._

Noctis’s skin was hot, feverish. He felt his magic crackle through his veins, aching, begging him. A bow string that had been pulled taut ever since Gladio had asked him to bring it to the surface. 

_Set me free. Let me help you._ A lovely feeling, slivering through his thoughts, whispering, whispering, whispering. _You want to, I know you do. I can help you reach him._

_He’s close to leaving you, but bind him, and then he never will. You’ll be together forever. He’s calling out to you for help._

_You can't hear it, but I can._

“Noctis?” 

Noctis raised his eyes to meet Prompto’s. His vision swam. The world seemed to shimmer with life and magic, swirling around them, coalescing heavily around Noctis. Prompto’s eyes were the brightest blue Noct had ever seen, like a jewel, the sun against the ocean. 

_He’s a strong one._ Yes, Prompto was strong. Not in the same way as Gladio or Ignis, but a unique strength of character. He had his own discipline and bravery. __

_The child soldier_ calls _to you. He’s alone and frightened. You can't hear it, but I can._

A drum beat within Noct’s mind. _Take him. Take him._

“Noctis,” Prompto repeated, his voice growing more urgent. “Whoa there. That’s weird—uhhh, I’m not sure what’s wrong, but something is definitely wrong. Shiva, holy shit. Uh, it’s okay. It’s okay, but I think you need help. I’m going to call Ignis, alright?” 

“No.” Noctis couldn’t think. Prompto’s bright, blue eyes were wide with fright. They flickered sideways, and when Noctis followed, he saw slivers of magic pickling across his knuckles. He clenched his fists tightly, then released his fingers, watching the sparks arc. “I’m fine,” Noctis added as his mind buzzed. He tried to will away the excess energy. “I’m just a little distracted right now, thinking about you.” What was he saying? 

“Okaaay…?” Prompto said, drawing the word out, soaking it in skepticism. “That’s, uhhh, great. But I’m still gonna call Ignis. Where’s your phone, Noct?” 

Oh right, because Prompto hadn’t brought his. _Claim him now. Before you lose the chance forever. Don’t you hear him calling out, crying for connection? No fear. No hiding. Your blonde soldier needs you now. Take him. Bind him._ Prompto was afraid because he didn’t understand what Noctis understood. He had no comprehension of the perfect intimacy that awaited him, the connection, the strength of such a binding. 

_Lead him._ _You’ve already started the process. It won't take much more._ Yes, Noctis saw it now. His magic, roiling on the surface, had touched Prompto earlier, and Prompto had unwittingly allowed it. The blonde soldier had been open to Noct’s touch, seeking, seeking, seeking. 

“Where’s your phone Noctis?” Prompto’s voice was suddenly firm. He had drawn himself up, squared his shoulders, and Noctis saw his gaze sneak towards the door. If Noctis wouldn’t give him the phone, then he would go to the guards. Because he was foolish and brave like that. Worthy of being bound to the prince. 

_Stop him. Take him._

_Take him._

Noctis put his hand on Prompto’s arm and held him there. He fought with himself. “You don’t control me.” 

Prompto’s pulse fluttered beneath Noct’s fingers, his breath hitching at the prince’s touch. Sparks arced between them. Noctis shuddered and tried to draw himself closed, to squeeze his eyes shut, hide from the onslaught of sensation. “You don’t control me,” he repeated, trying to will truth to the words. 

Prompto’s reply was soft, like he was speaking to a skittish animal. “I’m not trying to, Noct. Just let me go, okay? Can you do that?” 

_What?_ Noctis shook his head. “Not you.” 

“Noct? Hey, look at me.” 

Noct couldn’t face those eyes, so trusting and brave, still trying to take care of Noct even though Noctis was the dangerous one right now. But Prompto took the arm that wasn’t in Noct’s grip and placed it over the prince’s hands, squeezing gently. Noctis blinked his eyes back open. “Dude, you have to tell me what’s going on. Please.” 

Noctis could smell Prompto. There were layers to the scent, most immediately the acrid touch of fear and sorrow. It made the tang of sweat coming off of his skin taste of bitterness instead of clean vitality. But underneath that was a mix of shampoo and soap, and then his natural base scent, baked into his pajamas. Sleep and vulnerability. 

It was just the magic making it so visceral, Noctis told himself. It wasn’t real. 

But just because it was magic-induced didn’t make it any less real. 

So many thoughts were buzzing around in Noct’s head. A vision of Prompto in a defensive side stance, gun braced correctly, eyes full of calm murder. Like a videogame. Point and pow. 

Prompto’s faced turned away, lips curled in a shy smile as Noct complimented him on something. Prompto swearing and waving his hands animatedly as he complained about some test he had bombed. Black powder staining Prompto’s fingers from the kickback of the gun. Point and pow. 

Fingers like a slab of meat. Eye swollen, nose cracked open. __

_Then we kill the blonde._ Prompto hadn’t begged. He had stared down the barrel of a gun and refused to beg. 

Point and pow. 

Noctis surged up. Prompto was half off the bed and Noctis on his knees as the prince tightened his grip on the blonde’s arm. He went straight for Prompto’s mouth, saw a glimpse of total shock, and then he captured the other boy’s lips. Prompto didn’t respond other than to jerk his arms helplessly, but Noctis wasn’t bothered by that. He gently carded his fingers through Prompto’s fine blonde hair. Then he used that to draw the blonde down, until Prompto was laying on his back, Noctis caging him. 

Noctis mouthed at his lips, drawing and sucking in turn. The prince was vaguely aware of a cloud of magical sparks circling them, but he ignored that. The power made everything sweeter anyway, more visceral, rawer. 

As he tried to coax Prompto’s mouth open, the blonde made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a gasp. Noctis finally managed to slide his tongue through those teasing lips, and that was when Prompto suddenly kicked his knees up, driving them into the meat of Noct’s stomach. Noctis pulled off with a grunt. He blinked heavily at Prompto, not understanding why the other boy would do something like that. 

Prompto seemed to be struggling to take air into his lungs, his chest rising and falling at a frenetic rate. “What the hell, Noct?” 

“What’s wrong?” Noctis asked. “Don’t you want this?” He could feel where the threads of magic were already trying to wrap around the blonde. This had been coming for a long time, he suddenly realized, as inevitable as the dawn. They couldn’t stop now. 

Prompto choked. “Dude, you’re like high right now. Or something. I don’t know. But you are not going to thank me when you come back down from whatever— _this_ is.” 

Noctis stared down at his friend. Already Prompto’s thin pajama pants sported a tent. Inevitable. He watched another thin line of magical sparks rise from his hands and arc down where he gripped Prompto’s bare arm. The blonde inhaled a shuddering breath in response, his hips jerking up helplessly. “You didn’t answer my question,” Noctis said, letting his own hips meet Prompto’s just once. An explosion of sensation followed. “Don’t you want this?” 

Prompto closed his eyes. Tears leaked from the corners. “No,” he said, his voice rough. “I don’t.” 

Noctis glared at his friend. Some part of him screamed to listen, to get up now before it was too late. 

_Take him. Take him._

“You’re lying.” 

Prompto made a wretched groaning noise and jerked his head back against the bed. His hips rose again as if of their own volition. “What are you doing to me, Noct?” 

What was he doing? Something terrible. 

Some things you can't take back. 

_Can you not hear him calling? Don’t leave him half bound. Take him. Take him._ “I’m giving you what I feel,” he said, staring down at his friend. “Making you understand how deep our friendship can go. No more hiding.” The words felt strange in his mouth. _Wrong._ “And I’m not high. This is just me. This is what it means to be an heir of Lucis, to be bound to the Crystal. I thought you understood that about me, that I’m different. I thought you weren’t afraid of me.” 

“I’m not,” Prompto insisted weakly. He had begun panting. “But—.” 

Noctis interrupted him. “Do you trust me?” 

Prompto made an unintelligible noise, then gasped, “Noct.” 

Noctis let another wave of magic suffuse him, helping it sink into all the places they touched. “Do you. Trust me?” 

“Of course!” The answer was strangled. Noctis kept his hands on Prompto’s so that the other boy couldn’t escape him, and then he ground down into his friend, gasping at the wave of pleasure that followed. “Help me,” the blonde whimpered. 

It was like being dunked in freezing water. 

The haze was still there, the Crystal still whispering madly into his ears, but Noctis finally managed to climb out of the thicket his thoughts had become. Somewhere else in his mind, he was staring at the cologne man, feeling the man’s cigarette breath on his face, crying out for help. _You will have nothing of me._

Noctis jerked away from his friend with a gasp. He crab-walked backwards until there was as much distance between them as possible without falling off the bed. Then he curled in on himself, making himself as small as he could. His magic continued to lick around him, a cloud of living sparks. The Crystal felt so close right now, he could have done a thousand warps. Or fucked someone into a bond. 

“Oh god, oh god,” he moaned. He hid his face in his hands, unable to bear the sight of his friend. What had he done? 

Prompto was silent, except for his breathing. Noctis heard the bed creak, felt the mattress dip with movement, but he refused to lift his head. Finally, Prompto spoke first. His voice wavered and trembled, but there was steel there as well. “What the hell was that?” 

Of all things, Noctis suddenly remembered a conversation he’d had with Ignis long ago. The worst thing you could do was treat another person as if their thoughts, goals, and desires didn't matter. The worst form of selfishness. Who did that to a friend? Noctis had been so self-righteous, so indignant about how he himself had been treated by those at the Citadel as a mere vessel for magic power, but when given the opportunity he had reverted to something worse than base. 

_It was my magic,_ he thought hysterically. _I wasn’t in control of myself._ But even as he had the thought, guilt wrapped in his stomach tightly. Had not Gladio been practicing with him endlessly, drilling him in control, control, control? He might as well make the excuse that he had been so horny he couldn't help himself. 

“I—I—.” 

“I have a right to know, after—that. What the hell was that, Noct?” 

Noctis finally raised his gaze from where he was curled and saw that Prompto had drawn his knees up and rested his chin there. The blonde’s eyes were large and watery, but he wasn’t quite crying yet. 

_He said stop and you didn’t stop. You didn’t stop when he said no. Who does that to a friend?_

“Okay,” said Noctis. “Yeah, you do.” 

Noctis struggled to think of the best way to explain what had happened. What was still happening as he fought to force his magic back into a dormant state. It wasn’t enough to say that Noctis’s magic had pushed him to act on itself. Not enough to explain the base mechanics of how retainers received their power. Not enough to tell Prompto how Noct’s attraction to him was all mixed up in this. He would have to start from the very beginning and tell his friend what he had been too ashamed and afraid to speak of before. 

It wasn’t like he had any dignity left to protect at this point. 

His magic was still murmuring in the back of his mind, and he clenched his fists, inwardly raging at it, demanding retreat. _Let me think, dammit._ He could feel threads of power weaving towards Prompto, wrapping around him, half finished. What happened when a king stopped partway through creating a bond? Noctis had never heard of that being a thing before, nor did his magic seem particularly inclined to allow it to be a thing for very long. It was drawing all of his attention towards the fragile strands of connection like magnet. 

_Finish it._

Noctis swallowed, then asked, “You know the story about the first Lucian King, right? The one that first bonded to the Crystal?” 

Still curled up defensively away from the prince, Prompto gave him a wary look at the seeming non-sequitur. “The dude who prayed for six days and nights? The fairy tale they teach you in kindergarten?” 

Fairy tale? It had never occurred to Noctis that anyone could believe it a fairy tale. Exaggerated and mythicized, sure. But fully invented? “Yeah. That one.” 

Prompto, who almost ever raised his voice at Noctis, who was always cheerful and easy going, did nothing to hide his distain. “Everyone knows that story. What does that have to do with you attacking me?” 

Noctis winced, but he replied, “Well, that’s not the only story about him. There’s another one, about the first retainer to the king, Gagea. Do you know that one?” 

“Gagea?” Despite himself, Prompto seemed intrigued. “I’ve never heard of him.” 

“Not many people have. It’s not as—wholesome a story as the Crystal granting one. It’s a story they sometimes tell Kingsglaive who have finished their training and are struggling with their final choice on whether they want to join the Kingsglaive or just go back to the regular army.” 

“I don't want to hear a fairy tale. I want to know why the hell you just tried to jump my bones like a cat in heat." Prompto glared, but Noctis could see how the anger was hiding a deeper fear. A fear that was all his fault. Prompto was the only normal person who hadn't judged or feared what Noctis was. But not anymore. 

“I know I don’t deserve anything from you right now,” Noctis replied, his head hung in shame, “But please let me tell you this story and what it means.” 

“Okay,” Prompto hesitated. “Then tell me about this Gagea guy.” The look he gave Noctis said this better actually lead somewhere. 

Noctis gulped, but he did his best to steady himself. 

Then he began. 

*** 

_“Long ago the world was a terrible place. Men battled each other for scraps and piles of rubble, only to be picked off by roaming daemons. It was a time for warriors and murderers and the worst of such men was a barbarian king called Gagea the Brute. Gagea ruled his band of raiders and warriors with an iron fist, raiding and pillaging without thought for the welfare of others.”_

“Sounds like a swell dude,” said Prompto. 

Noctis ignored the interruption. _“And so when Gagea the Brute heard that the King of Lucis had acquired the favor of the Gods and a powerful Crystal that could vanquish all of his enemies, the barbarian king decided that he must have it for himself._

_So Gagea rode with his army to Lucis. He intended to destroy this upstart King, take the Crystal for himself, and once and for all prove that he was the most powerful warrior the world had ever seen. He expected the Crystal King’s army to meet him on the outskirts of Lucis, but when he got there, he saw the King himself, without an army at his back, standing alone atop a hill, waiting for him._

_Gagea the Brute was disappointed in the Lucian King, that he could surrender himself without a fight. Gagea could have had his soldiers destroy the King from afar, but he did not. He could have turned around and left, but he did not. Instead, he rode ahead of his army, alone to stand before the Chosen King. ‘You are weak, you who have sold yourself to a God like a common whore,’ he called out to the King, as derisive as any man could be. ‘You are weak, and you disappoint me. Do you surrender your Crystal so easily?’_

_The King did not succumb to the taunt. He was calm as he answered, ‘There are many forms of weakness, just there are many forms of strength. Perhaps I am weak in some ways, for I have sold myself for power, it is true. But you, Gagea the Brute, you are a true slave, subjugated in spirit and soul. You, who sow nothing but destruction across the lands of men, you are truly the pitiable creature.’_

_Gagea could not bear to have this foolish King say such things to him. He raised his sword in violent rage. ‘You dare,’ he hissed. The King of Light did not retreat, nor did he produce any weapon of his own. This gave Gagea the Brutish pause. ‘Draw your weapon, coward!’ he demanded, ‘And feel what true power is underneath the heat of my blade.’_

_But the King of Light did not comply. Instead he gave the warrior king such a profound look of disappointment that Gagea once again hesitated, despite his words. The Chosen King then said, ‘Like all men, you have risen from the dust, and like all men, to dust you shall return. All marks you have left upon this earth shall be washed away by the ravages of time. You are tiny,’ he said, ‘And your dreams will be forgotten, your name devoid of meaning, and your bones left moldering in the dirt.’”_

Noctis felt his magic stirring tightly around himself as he said the words. He had only studied them once or twice, but the words of the ancient king felt like a half remembered dream, spilling easily from his mouth. He met Prompto’s eyes as he continued in an unfaltering voice, _“‘But unlike you, I shall be eternal. For where you have destroyed, I have created. Where you have taken, I have sacrificed. I am he who will return the dawn.’ As he looked down upon the barbarian, the King demanded thunderously, ‘What has your life been worth, Gagea the Brute? What will you leave behind when your bones turn to ash?’_

_Now it was the King of Light’s turn to look contemptuous. ‘You will not strike me down here. For you are the true coward, a child who wallows in darkness and filth and ignorance. And now you must face that which you are, Gagea the Brute.’_

_With those words, the King of Light turned his back on barbarian king. This barbarian who had destroyed so many villages and brought kingdoms to ruin, who buried his sword in the spines of countless people, was dismissed as entirely insignificant. The King did not look back as he walked away. For he had been right. The barbarian king did not strike him down._

_Gagea the Brute could have walked away as well. He could have run his sword through the retreating King. But he did none of those things. Instead, he called out to the retreating King, ‘You were not made for this world of darkness and strife, King of Lucis. But I was. As I have come for you, so shall others. They will come, and one day, the darkness you so righteously battle shall succeed.’_

_When the King turned back to face the barbarian, he wore a small, sad smile. ‘Then I shall simply try harder and sacrifice more.’_

_‘And one day there will be nothing left to give.’_

_‘There is always more to give.’_

_The two men stared at each other. One felt the truth of the other in his very bones, a weight on his soul._

_Finally, the barbarian king said reckelssly, ‘You say I will leave nothing on this earth, but you are wrong. If I am a creature of darkness and ignorance, then I will use that. Let me be your Shield in this world of darkness. That can be my creation.’_

_The Lucian King did not seem surprised or taken aback. He did not question the barbarian’s sincerity. He simply said, ‘You who have caused so much destruction must sacrifice much to belong to the light.’_

_The barbarian bristled. ‘You think I will not?’_

_‘I think you will not,’ affirmed the Lucian. Then the King told the barbarian what he must do, and the barbarian refused. And thus, the Lucian King left him on that field._

_Many years passed—.”_

“Wait,” said Prompto, his face drawn in a frown. “What did the King want Gagea to sacrifice?” 

Noctis looked at him, his heart in his throat, an unbearable weight. “You know what he wanted him to sacrifice. You’ve known since the kidnapping.” 

Prompto narrowed his eyes, but didn’t argue. “That doesn’t explain why you lost your mind.” 

Noctis shook his head. “I’m trying to explain it in the best way I know how,” he said miserably. “Not just what the Covenant _is_ , but what the Covenant _means_.” 

Prompto nodded thoughtfully, then said, “Okay then. Keep going.” 

_“Many years passed, during which the Lucian King of Light grew older and wiser. But the barbarian king he had met so long ago proved prophetic, for it was not the daemons that destroyed the Lucian King, but rather treachery from within._

_One day, the Lucian King invited all the rulers, from petty lords to great kings to his kingdom, for he wished to form a great alliance. But treachery reigned that day, and the Lucian King was poisoned. He did not die immediately, but he lay on the verge of life and death, wallowing in pain and misery. No healer could save him; no doctor had the answer._

_Then, of all people, came the barbarian that the Lucian King had met on that field so many years ago. He was stopped at the gate, so he told the guards, ‘I will see the Lucian King. And if you bar my way, then I will destroy you, for I am not like him. My heart is wild and savage.’ But the guards loved their king and so they stood their ground._

_The barbarian king felled those who stood before him. He came to the king’s chamber, and there he leaned over the sick King, saying, ‘I have learned much since we last spoke. You were right to refuse me as I was. But refuse me no longer, for I have come to be your Shield.’_

_The King laughed weakly. ‘You have, have you? It seems you have come a bit too late. Darkness has won.’_

_‘Darkness cannot succeed just yet, Your Highness,’ Gagea replied. ‘For I have more of myself left to give.’_

_‘You cannot give enough to save me from this.’_

_‘I can,’ he said, ‘And I will.’_

_With that, Gagea turned away from the King to where the Crystal of Light rested at the other end of the room. Gagea said to the Crystal, ‘What must I give to you? Tell me, and it shall be so.’_

_At his words, a Great Being suddenly stood before him, vast, eternal, and limitless. The God, his back made of infinite swords, spoke cruelly to Gagea, ‘Sell yourself. If it is my power you desire, then whore yourself for it, and I shall grant it to you.’_

_Gagea recognized his old words, but he had long since learned what the Lucian meant when he had told the barbarian king that there were many strengths and many weaknesses, and so he said, ‘For the power to serve my King, you may have me.’_

_‘Not me,’ replied the Being. ‘I have my King. I do not need another.’ He pointed to the bed where the King of Light lay dying. ‘You shall bind yourself to the Line of Lucis, this King and all those to come. You will belong to them wholly, be both sword and shield in one. Your life and death shall be theirs, and your children after you, and your children’s children after them. Swear it on your name, human.’_

_The dying man coughed weakly._

_Once, Gagea might have found such sickness repulsive. Now he raised his head to the God defiantly and said, ‘I, Gagea Amicitia, called Gagea the Brute, accept your terms.’”_

“This is the part of the story that very few people get the full details of,” Noctis said, breaking the flow of the narrative. “I had to read it as part of my royal education when I was like, twelve or something.” 

“So what happened next?” demanded Prompto, seeming to sense that Noctis was stalling. Noctis met his eyes, knowing the blonde could see the heaviness there. 

_“The God raised his hand,”_ said Noctis, _“and he pointed it at the Lucian King, suffusing him in magical light. Then in a burst of swirling sparks and swords, the God disappeared._

_The power that surrounded the King was greater than anything Gagea had seen before. It was profound and terrible, but he was not afraid. He walked over to his King and bowed low. ‘Will you accept my Covenant?’ asked Gagea._

_The King coughed. ‘You know not what you offer me.’_

_It was Gagea’s turn to calmly face the other man. ‘No. I do not,’ he replied quietly. ‘As you did not when you offered yourself to the Gods. But I have seen your heart, King of Lucis, and I do not fear to bind myself to its mercy.’_

_The King raised his head, red rimmed eyes holding the former barbarian’s. ‘Then I accept your Covenant, Gagea Amicitia. You shall be my Shield, and your children shall shield mine. Your life and death belong to me. In return, you shall always have a place at my table and in my home. You and your children shall want for naught.’ Finally, the Lucian King said, ‘You are mine.’_

_‘Then take me,’ came Gagea’s reply, and he leaned over the King, pressing their bodies together._

_The King laughed bitterly at Gagea, waving his hand over his wasted body. ‘I’m in a rather weakened state, I must admit.’_

_“Perhaps,” agreed the Shield, ‘But I am your strength where you are weak.’_

_And so, Gagea gave himself to the King that night. He allowed the King to touch him in both body and soul where no creature or human ever had before. He submitted to the King’s mark, and in return the King created a seed of power within Gagea, a seed born of the act of intimacy and submission and sacrifice. As the King of Light both gave and received power from the Crystal, so did he give and take from his retainer, to a lesser scale._

_On the strength of their new bond, Gagea was able to use his power to heal the King of what all the soothsayers and healers and doctors could not. Gagea was made stronger, faster, and gained a shadow of the King’s god touched armory gift. He used that power to strike down all those who would harm his King. Thus, was born the Line of Amicitia, Shields to the Kings and Queens of Lucis.”_

*** 

**Prompto** 

*** 

Prompto silently absorbed the story for a short moment. “That’s a great story,” he eventually said, “But, that just explains your relationship with your Shield. What does that have to do with anyone else?” 

Noct’s voice croaked with rawness from the recitation. “It isn’t just Gladio or his dad or the Amicitias. It’s anyone. Anyone that’s willing to bare themselves to the king.” 

“Or prince.” Prompto pointed out. 

“Or prince,” Noctis agreed. He apparently had a torrent of information to let out now that he had allowed himself the freedom. A fact he demonstrated by continuing to babble. Prompto understood the urge. It felt far safer to keep talking about the details of the Covenant itself rather than what had just happened a few minutes ago. “Different people have pretty wildly different talent levels with the retainer magic,” Noctis continued. “Some argue that it has to do with how much the retainer is willing to sacrifice when the Covenant is made. Others just think some people are naturally better at magic, and that’s all there is to it.” 

Prompto hummed as he thought, still skittering around the edge of what Noct had just done. He felt he was only keeping it together as it was by mentally hovering above it all, keeping his thoughts clinical. “I wonder if they had connections in the Kingsglaive…?” 

“What?” 

“Our kidnappers,” Prompto clarified. “You said that only Kingsglaive and Crownsguard hear that story, right?” 

“Um, yeah.” 

“But—Viktor.” Prompto still struggled to force the name out of his mouth. “He knew all about the Covenant.” 

Noctis frowned. “More people than just the retainers know about the mechanics of the Covenant though, if not the story of Gagea. The doctors and nurses at the Kingsglaive ward, the council members, some other random people at the Citadel, they all know it involves sex.” 

Something about that didn’t make sense to Prompto, besides the fact that it seemed literally everyone in Lucis had known except for him. 

“But he didn’t just know about the sex stuff,” he said as he contemplated his memories of that day. “Viktor was really interested in Gladio and his connection to you. He wanted to see him heal you.” _Your Prince is dying, Mr. Amicitia._ “He knew who Gladio was, and he said that he’d heard people with special relationships with the royalty could heal each other. I mean, everyone knows the Glaives can warp, but I didn’t know about the healing thing until that day. So where did he hear that?” 

With a shake of his head, Noctis replied, “I have no idea.” 

“He even said you were going to whore yourself out, just like how Gagea and the God said it in the story.” 

Noctis’s face turned an even brighter red than it already was. He pursed his lips, then said awkwardly, “Either way, now you know how a full retainer to the Crown is made.” 

They stared at each other until Prompto looked away. “But I’m not your retainer,” said Prompto, his gaze somewhere to the side of Noctis. 

“No,” agreed Noctis again. “You’re not. Prom—.” 

Suddenly unable to take it anymore, Prompto cut him off with a sharp sound. “You scared me, Noct. You really scared me.” 

Prompto was beginning to sweat again. Dampness beaded down the nape of his neck, curling the thin hairs there. His body matched the state of his mind, overwhelmed and close to snapping. His arms still burned where Noctis had touched him. The sensation seemed to be directly connected to his dick, because it was causing acute discomfort in his increasingly too tight crotch area. Even though Noctis had stopped, it still felt like the prince was reaching for him, like one move and they would resume what they had started. 

Noct’s wild eyes, the tempest of magic surrounding him, and how he had pinned Prompto down; Prompto had never felt a more confusing wash of arousal and fear in his life. He was still wary, afraid to let Noctis get too close to him. It was so—unexpected. Prompto had never before seen any sign that Noctis was attracted to him in any way. Those longing stares and sulky moods were normally reserved for Gladio alone. And yet Noctis had jumped him, practically tried to devour Prompto. Not only that, but for a terrifying moment, Prompto had been sure that his refusal would be ignored, that Noctis would’ve—his mind shied away from the word. 

It seemed Prompto wasn’t the only one who couldn’t trust his own thoughts and desires. And indeed, now that they were still and conversant, Noctis appeared miserable, wrapped in a ball like a kicked puppy. He looked like he wanted to disappear, to sink into the mattress and come out the other side where he wouldn’t have to face this. But this conversation wasn’t something the prince could run from. It wasn’t something he deserved to run from. “I know,” said Noctis, “And I’m so, so sorry.” 

Prompto didn’t react to the apology. He still felt strangely clinical about the whole thing. It wasn’t just that Noctis had frightened him, it was also that grimy feeling of being used, manipulated. Instead, he demanded, “So what, your magic just makes you horny for anyone? You have to fuck all your friends?” 

“No!” exclaimed Noctis. “I mean, in a way? —I don’t know.” 

_How could he not know?_ _Was he seriously going to blame this all on his magic?_ Prompto squeezed his eyes shut again, only for another wash of tears to escape him. “You don’t know?” 

“I don't know,” Noctis repeated. “It’s not a sex thing. Or at least, it’s not just a sex thing. You felt really vulnerable and far away, but also strong and worthy, and it was like if I could just form this connection with you, then we’d be—together and safe. Then you couldn’t leave me, not really.” 

“You know how fucked up that sounds, right?” _Not a sex thing?_ Because of course it wasn’t. Noctis had never before wanted Prompto like that. And the prince had no idea of how hurtful that was. 

Noctis sank in on himself. “Yeah,” he replied flatly. “It’s beyond fucked up.” 

Prompto was suddenly incredibly weary. He wiped his nose and eyes. How had he gone from seeking Noctis for comfort, to feeling righteous in asking for information, to this sick, broken feeling? The last remnants of the things he loved, slipping away. “I don’t want this to be the last memory I have of you,” he said. 

Noctis’s lungs visibly stopped pumping air. “What do you mean?” 

Prompto’s heart thundered like a bullet train in his chest. A point of no return. In the end, he hadn’t been able to keep the truth buried deep enough to want to hide it from Noctis. “You were wrong about what my parents want. It isn't to leave you, exactly. They want to leave Lucis,” he admitted in a tiny voice, “As soon as possible.” 

Prompto watched Noct’s face fall into confusion as he said the words. _My parents want to leave Lucis._ He had finally said it, finally admitted what was happening. 

“Why?” demanded Noctis. His words came out a jumbled mess. “Because of what happened to you? Lucis is the safest place on the planet. Anywhere else, and you have to worry about constant daemon attacks and Niflheim and god knows what else. The kidnapping was my fault. It was about the Covenant, not you, and I can—I can back off if that’s what it takes. _Please._ ” 

_It’s not you_ , Prompto wanted to say. _It’s me. I’m the danger._ The words were right there on the tip of his tongue. He had already begun his confession. All he needed to do to finish it would be to admit this one more thing. Admit this one thing and watch Noct’s eyes widen in horror. Admit this one thing and be taken by the Kingsglaive, perhaps experimented on, certainly questioned. 

No, he was leaving. His parents would see to that, and it didn’t make sense to further ruin the scraps of his relationship with Noctis that remained. Even now, Prompto couldn’t overcome that primary mandate from his parents. Hide. Obfuscate. 

“I don’t think they care, Noct,” Prompto said. He stared at his friend, still desperate to remember every detail of the prince’s face. He had pictures, of course. Hundreds and hundreds of them. But a picture couldn’t capture the strange way light sometimes hit Noct’s irises so that they shone purple. A picture couldn’t eternalize how he would impatiently brush his bangs out of his eyes, the particular inky texture of his hair. 

Noctis gave Prompto a peeved look. “That’s it then? You’re really leaving Lucis!? Just like that?” 

Prompto sighed. “When I go back home, I suppose.” 

Noct’s answer was quick, like he couldn't stop himself. “Then don’t go home!” 

As if it were so easy. Why couldn’t Noctis just understand? Prompto bit his lip as he snapped back, “It doesn’t work like that!” 

“Why not?” 

Prompto couldn't stand the confusion in Noct’s voice, like it really was that simple. Of course, Prompto didn’t want to leave. Of course he planned on arguing with his parents, but to actually just ignore them . . . The prince was trying to make Prompto feel guilty because he wasn’t willing to abandon his family. He was demanding that Prompto defy his parents, not because Prompto wanted to, but because Noct didn’t want to lose his easy friend. Prompto was sixteen! What did Noct expect, that Prompto would show up at the Citadel with a suitcase and demand a room next to Noct’s? Did he know how much apartments cost? 

Prompto had already promised himself long ago. He might be the poor one, the uncultured commoner, but he would never come to his friend a beggar. He hadn’t yet, and he wasn’t about to start. 

No. He couldn’t trust his own mind or his own body thanks to the revelations from his parents, but rather than being a safe harbor, Noctis had attacked him with his magic, had put Prompto back into that helpless place, the terror of begging for mercy. 

“Not all of us are rich princes who get whatever they want whenever they want,” he snarled, surprising himself with his vehemence. “Sometimes you have to sacrifice.” 

Rather than making him back down, Prompto’s words seemed to have sparked a smoldering heat in Noctis. The prince spat out, “You think I don’t know about sacrifice? That my life had been one long, easy party? Seriously?” 

Prompto knew his words weren’t exactly fair. Noctis tended to bite down every negative emotion he had until he was an apathetic automaton because he seemed to think that he wasn’t allowed to be unhappy. Prompto knew how deep that pain ran, but he was angry and hurting, and at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to hurt Noctis back. 

“I think you don’t know the first thing about actual problems,” Prompto ground out. He’d had no idea these words and feelings were inside him, but he suddenly had no desire to curb them. “I think you’re selfish and entitled, and you’ve never in your pampered existence thought about what my life is actually like.” Prompto threw out each word like a sharpshooter hitting major artery points. Targeted and vicious. 

Noctis didn’t know how to show his hurt. His face was a blank canvas, and Prompto thought for a moment that the empty stillness would be Noct’s only reaction. 

But then the prince choked out, the words malformed from pain, _“They told me if I didn't fuck my friends then they would be taken away from me.”_

At that, he stopped to let out a few shuddering breaths, then continued in a bitter jeer, “It didn’t matter that Ignis has been taking care of me since I was eight or that Gladio’s been training me since then either. Nothing mattered except that I wasn’t ready and willing to shove my cock up their asses for the future of the country.” 

Noctis’s eyes burned. Magic crackled around him again, but he managed to keep it away from Prompto. “Maybe I don’t know shit about what it’s like to be you, but you have no fucking clue what it’s like not to own your own body. To be a tool instead of a person. Live in the lap of luxury and in exchange, whore yourself out when we tell you to.” 

As he stared at the panting prince, Prompto gulped, his thoughts swirling with confused emotions. _Made not born._ In a way Noctis had been made too, created with the express purpose of serving the country. _Sacrifice._ He remembered viscerally the cologne man saying to Noctis, _you were always going to whore yourself out, don't kid yourself._

Suddenly, he couldn't repress the desire to reach for and touch Noctis. It didn’t make sense in the context of his anger and frustration, but the desire was undeniably there. He couldn't seem to stop seesawing between the two extremes. His hand moved as if on its own, but Noctis withdrew nearly as quickly. 

“Don’t,” the prince said. “My magic is still going nuts.” 

Prompto knew that. The swirling sparks were a rather obvious sign. He let the poisonous anger leak out of his tone as he asked, going back to their earlier point of conversation, “What did fucking me have to do with serving Lucis?” His heart hammered, nerves clenched tightly as he stared at the prince. 

Noctis winced at the word ‘fucking.’ “Nothing,” he replied dully. “I just wanted to. And I’m so, so fucking sorry, Prompto.” 

“You wanted to, or your magic?” Prompto interrupted, still staring intently. 

Noct’s eyes were a chasm. “I _am_ my magic,” he said finally. “It’s me and I’m it, and I should have been more in control of myself.” 

It wasn’t fair. This really would be Prompto’s last memory of Noctis. The horror in the prince’s eyes. The blank terror of being helpless. He should still be angry beyond words at Noct, and he was, but the longer he sat here, the less energy he seemed to have to sustain his outrage. 

Being held down had been frightening because it had reminded Prompto of the inherently unequal power dynamic of their relationship. Noct was the future political leader of their country and magically powerful down to his core. But until he’d been faced with that reality in such a visceral way, Prompto had always accepted it, that Noctis could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to. 

Except that he couldn't. Noct was more trapped in some ways than Prompto ever could be. Abruptly, Prompto was ashamed of his earlier words. In his rage, he’d used his knowledge of Noct’s sore spots to wedge a knife in his friend’s heart. 

_This is the last memory I’ll ever have of him._

“I still don’t understand. If I’m not a retainer, then why would you want to give me magic powers?” Prompto asked insistently. _If you hated what your father and the council forced you to do to Ignis and Gladio, then why would you try to do it again with me too?_

“You couldn’t understand it,” the prince said slowly. Prompto was about to express his affront at the dismissal, but Noctis started talking again before he could get the words out. “It’s—connection. No barriers or hiding.” 

“You can read each other’s minds?” Prompto frowned in confusion. 

“No,” Noctis quickly shook his head. “But you can feel the person, I guess. Who they are.” 

That sounded like Prompto’s parents’ worst nightmare, the very thing they were trying to prevent by running away. For a second, he imagined their faces as he stood before them having done that with Noctis, their pure horror. His stomach clenched bitterly at the idea, momentarily replacing his previous fear with spiteful satisfaction. 

“I’ve never slept with anyone before.” Prompto wasn’t exactly sure why he said that. His attention kept getting snagged by the intermittent sparks of energy jumping from Noct’s skin. 

Noctis gave Prompto a sharp look, before replying, “I hadn’t either. Before Ignis.” 

Noct’s first intimate experience had been in service of the crown. Somehow that made Prompto feel incredibly sad, more than anything else he had heard today. _This is the last memory I’ll ever have of him._

Prompto raised his hand again. He could almost imagine his mother’s white, pinched face. _You aren’t like everyone else, Prompto. Don’t stand out. Don’t be different._ His parents had let him form a friendship with Noctis, knowing where it would lead, knowing the danger it posed. Yet, they’d decided it was better to let things run their course rather than admit the truth to Prompto until it was too late and there was no other choice. It was beyond cruel. 

They’d left him alone, left him to be bone achingly lonely. Left him to raise himself. And he had never complained, never truly fought back. Always stayed safe. 

_I want to do something reckless. Something for me._

Noct watched him warily. The blonde’s heart raced. He knew what those sparks of magic felt like, how it would take over his mind. He reached forward in the space between them, waiting for Noct to stop him, to yell or back away. 

Noctis did not. 

And so Prompto laid his hand on Noct’s bare arm. It was like connecting a circuit. Suddenly, every one of Prompto’s nerves were drenched in white hot adrenaline. Magic leapt up between them, and Noctis gasped sweetly, eyes closing, mouth falling open. 

_Stop it! This isn’t the kind of thing you can take back. This is what ruins friendships!_ Prompto’s mind shrieked at him, but it was drowned out by the wash of sensations. Noctis surged up and pushed back against Prompto, dragging the blonde onto his back on the bed. It was a stranger mirror of what Noctis had done earlier, and Prompto felt a prickle of unease creep up his spine as he stared up at his dark haired friend. 

Noctis panted, mouth still open. “I want you so badly. You have no idea.” 

Prompto actually thought he had a pretty good idea if the hardness grounding into his hip was any indication. 

Noctis trailed his hands everywhere he could easily reach, Prompto’s arms and underneath his shirt. He cupped the blonde’s cheek, and the touch burned like a brand. Prompto had never in his life been more awake, or aware of a single moment in time. 

While Prompto writhed against the prince’s touch, Noctis cooed, “Please don’t be afraid.” 

“I’m not afraid of you,” said Prompto, and they were like the words of a spell, the sum exponentially more powerful than the individual words themselves. Noctis groaned and then fit his lips over Prompto’s. 

Discounting the earlier incident with Noctis that he hadn’t reciprocated, Prompto had never kissed anyone in his life before this moment. Noct’s lips were warm, and they seemed to have a magic all on their own because Prompto felt the electricity crackle all the way to his toes when they came together. It was messier than he expected, or maybe that was just Noctis. 

Noctis moaned in his mouth, tongue exploring. He ground down against Prompto, over and over. 

Finally, Prompto raised his own hands and ran them roughly down Noct’s back, clawing him, grabbing his ass and drawing him closer, aiding the jarring press of hip to groin. Then it was like something released inside of Prompto, and he lost track of time. They rutted against each other, steadily losing more and more clothing. 

Noctis pawed at his ass, trying to get Prompto to raise himself, and he was helpless, unable to disobey. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t Noct’s finger insistently circling his hole. 

Somehow Prompto had always imagined losing his virginity in either one of two ways. Drunk at the back of some awful party, or slow and sweet with a permanent partner. This fit neither of those scenarios, as he certainly wasn’t drunk, though every time a lick of magic sank into his skin, his vision whited out and his brain stuttered to a grinding halt. But this also wasn’t slow or sweet. Noctis was too insistent, too rough, and Prompto had no time to absorb what was happening. He could only react with vague instinct. 

Noct’s fingers breaching him was the strangest sensation Prompto had ever felt. It wasn’t pleasant, nor was it quite painful. But he could feel Noct’s anxiety about the act like the taste of pepper in the back of his throat. It didn’t feel right that Noctis was the one who anxious about this. Something about that made Prompto angry, made the pit of his stomach tighten unpleasantly. He reached up and jerked on Noctis, driving the prince in deeper and quicker, despite how that turned the mild ache into full blown pain. 

Both of them groaned into each other, and the magic swirled brighter again. The color of Noct’s eyes darkened to near purple, and when he spoke his voice was husky, commanding and deep. “Have you ever done this before?” 

Prompto didn’t want to admit to his lack of experience, but he wasn’t sure how to lie with Noct’s fingers up his ass. “No,” he replied with a hiss. 

Noctis didn’t let him off the hook that easily. “Not even yourself?” 

Prompto shook his head fitfully, and Noct groaned once more, crooking his fingers at the same time. Prompto’s legs spasmed as the prince hit a spot that made his vision blur in a wave of sensation. 

Noct began to speak, his words filthily out of character as his eyes shone with power. “That makes this experience mine then. Your sacrifice to me, just like the Shield of old.” His eyes burned Prompto, and his arms shook as he gripped him. “Ignis and Gladio couldn’t give me that, but you can, can't you Prompto? Every time for the rest of your life, this moment here will be in your mind as your first.” 

With that Noctis hitched Prompto up higher then lined up his cock with Prompto’s hole. He rested there, panting heavily. 

Prompto had a moment where he was frozen, unable to act or think. That smell of magic, electricity in the air, burning sunlight, ancient trees and growing flowers. The intense, concentrated awareness of Noct’s flesh touching his. 

Noctis was going to fuck him, and he was about to lie there and take it. Inevitable. A final act of submission. 

_Or not._ Prompto stared up at Noctis’s brilliantly purple eyes and he felt a wave of indignant rage break his haze. He wasn’t a doll to be used, and he wouldn’t let Noctis do that to him. So he raised himself even higher, pushing against the pressure of Noct’s cockhead, and when Noctis finally breached him, it was because Prompto had bodily demanded it. 

Not an act of submission, but one of total rebellion. 

It hurt, too much and too quickly, yet Prompto met Noctis thrust for thrust as they immediately set a punishing pace. 

“I’m going to mark you,” Noctis grunted, “Deep inside where no one but you or I will feel it.” Noct’s cock slammed into Prompto so fully that he could feel the prince’s balls slap against him before Noct drew back again. “When I spill my cum inside you, it’s going to weave a bond between us. Mine.” 

Prompto didn’t hold back. He clawed at Noctis, grabbing at him in a bruising hold as he tried to steady himself. It was angry and violent, and it made something ache inside Prompto entirely separately from the sex. 

Abruptly Noctis swore, then pulled out. Prompto whined at the sudden loss. “What are you do—.” 

But then he was being turned around, maneuvered onto his hands and knees, and Prompto understood. Before he could protest, Noctis had slammed back in. This angle was even deeper, and every drag of Noct’s cock brushed against Prompto’s nerves. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” Noctis demanded. “Tell me you belong to me.” 

Prompto panted, but complied, hissing, “I’m yours.” 

“No!” Noctis nearly stopped thrusting, moving just enough to remind Prompto he was there. “Swear it, on your name, Prompto. Swear it.” 

Prompto did not want to belong to anyone. He remembered his earlier resolution to be an equal participant in this act. He wondered what his parents would say to him now, how horrified they would be at his choices. But still, this was his choice. Not anyone else’s. “I swear it, he gasped out, “I, Prompto Argentum, belong to you and only you.” 

In that moment, Prompto realized how much Noctis had been holding his magic back, because that was when he fully set it free. Prompto drowned in a river of overwhelming awareness. Noctis pulled the blonde back onto his lap, back to chest, and wrapped his arms around Prompto tightly. Then he started sharply thrusting up. 

It only took a few more shattered seconds, and then Noctis was coming. Prompto felt the prince pulsing inside of himself. 

What followed was too much. Prompto was here, his ass luridly stuffed full of cock, but he was somewhere else too, somewhere purer that was made of swirling lights and threads of connection. Noctis was everywhere, in his body, but also digging into his mind, his soul. 

Prompto cried out. He tried to get away, to launch himself off Noctis’s lap, but he couldn't. The prince had him wrapped too tightly, and he refused to let go, even as Prompto begged him. 

Prompto could feel his own cock jerking and pulsing. He felt himself squeeze around Noctis in a strange wave of double awareness. A thousand moments of sweet intimacy. Gentle acceptance, desperate affection. It twisted around Prompto, weaving tighter and tighter until a thread shimmered brightly between himself and Noctis. 

Then it was over, and Prompto came to a second realization. The air around him felt dead, bereft of oxygen. His mind was oddly silent, and he realized that he had been unwittingly feeling the touch of Noct’s magic constantly since he had arrived at the Citadel, only to now finally be free of it. 

Or perhaps not so free. Because he could sense something tiny and deep inside of himself, though it slumbered weakly at the moment. Prompto felt a wave of horror. Just how much had he been affected by it? How much had Noctis? How in control of his magic was Noct really? 

Noctis abruptly pulled out of Prompto. The blonde teen could feel come leaking out of himself, and suddenly he felt dirty and ashamed. What the hell had he just done? Fucked his best friend as an ill thought-out act of teenage rebellion? Seriously? He may as well have lost his virginity at the back of some stupid party for as much forethought as he’d given this. 

He’d been so against coming to Noctis a beggar that instead he’d come as a little better than a whore. 

He suddenly wanted nothing more than to shower, to somehow scrub what he had just done off of his skin. 

“Prompto?” Noctis voice was full of concern. 

Prompto couldn’t bring himself to roll over and face his friend. To his complete mortification, he felt seconds away from crying. “I’m tired,” he whispered stiffly, trying to keep his voice even. 

Noctis was silent for a moment, and then he said, “Oh, Okay.” 

It wasn’t fully a lie. Prompto’s brain was rapidly shutting done as if he had taken a handful or sleeping pills. He curled tightly into a ball, his eyes fluttering closed without his permission. He felt Noctis reach over and grip his shoulder, but he flinched away, curling tighter, and Noctis jerked back. “I—I’ll be here when you wake up, Prompto.” 

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: The first Noctis section depicts a sexual assault or at least the beginning of one. No, it doesn't progress to penetration, but the very not okay elements are there, including a character who is clearly uncomfortable, and some rationalizing self talk on the part of the aggressor. 
> 
> The chapter also ends with a character choosing to have sex for unhealthy reasons after having just experienced the aforementioned trauma. The character then deals with some unhealthy self talk about their decision, ending the chapter on a rather grim note. If you want to skip the first scene, then skip the first long Noctis section (not the intro). If you want to skip the second, then skip the second/last Prompto section. 
> 
> **Allubttoa's soapbox! I really struggled with this chapter, clearly. It's never easy or clear how to depict unhealthy sexual behavior without either being unrealistic or excusing it. But I knew from the get go that the crux of this story would revolve around how just because Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio had one good, healthy moment, doesn't mean their work is done. They were open with each other, which was great, but then they didn't keep it up. Having sex didn't solve their problems, and Noctis hasn't figured out how to align his sexual needs and desires with his role as prince and human battery. Just as Prompto has not figured out how to assert his equality in his relationship with the Noctis. 
> 
> What Noctis did was not okay and it will 100% be explored. I struggle to read about my favorite characters making such painful mistakes, and I struggled even more to write about it, but that is the story that's been percolating within me. So I hope y'all stick with me. Shit does get better. 
> 
> ** Also, on a more positive note, thank you so much for the comments and kudos and all the support!


	8. What Can't be Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is fallout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I disappeared over the past few months. I seem to do that over the summer. But I'm back, and even though I stopped interneting and I didn't reply to the comments on the previous chapter, I very much appreciated every one. Thank you always for your support. :) 
> 
> These next two chapters were super hard bc people are not making healthy decisions. Warning for general angst and the fallout over the very dubiously consensual activities of the previous chapter.
> 
> **Finally, Summary for those that weren't all about reading last chapter. Prompto and Noctis talk about some of the trauma they've faced. Prompto admits that his family is planning on leaving, which sends Noctis on an emotional spiral that couples with his out of control magic. He attacks Prompto, then stops at the last minute. They talk some more, and then Prompto, in a fit of desperation at the lack of control he feels in his life, makes a purposely bad decision to let Noctis fuck him. Noctis doesn't tell him about the consequences of the magic, which is a tad not good, friendship wise. Basically last update was overwhelming, not-dealt-with emotions and bad decisions the chapter.

*** 

**Ignis** 

*** 

When Ignis awoke, he was alone in Nyx’s room. It was disconcerting that not only must he have fallen asleep at some point, but that he had slept through the Kingsglaive getting up himself. There wasn’t a mirror in the room, but a finger through his hair told Ignis just how rough he looked. At least Ulrich had cleaned them up last night, so he didn’t have stray body fluids to worry about on top of everything else. 

Pulling his clothes back on, he walked warily towards the kitchen. Ulrich wasn’t there, but the heavyset man that Ulrich had flipped off last night was. He stood next to the stove, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. A quick glance at the stove clock told Ignis that it was long before dawn, barley 5:30 in the morning. Still, later than Ignis normally rose. 

“Morning,” greeted the large Glaive. He raised his mug. “Coffee?” 

“Yes, please,” Ignis immediately responded, moving toward the coffee like a magnet. 

The coffee tasted horrendous, somehow both burnt and weak, but Ignis gulped it greedily. The Glaive didn’t seem at all bothered by Ignis’s presence, simply pouring Ignis another cup as he demolished the first. “Nyx told me to tell you he was sorry. Had to cover a friend’s shift last minute. Said you’re welcome to use the shower and all that before you head out.” 

Ignis wondered if that was actually the true reason Nyx had suddenly disappeared. He had no way of knowing unless he went over the Citadel and sought the Glaive out himself. Not exactly a subtle option. 

He was trying to decide if he actually wanted to use a stranger’s shower, or just go back to the Citadel and his room there looking obviously fucked out, when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. 

With a frown and another glance at the clock, Ignis drew his phone out. The caller ID read _Noctis_. 

Ignis blinked at the screen, feeling like he must be misreading. Noctis was a stereotypical teenager. The prince refused to rise before ten without a mix of bribes and threats on the best of days. Swearing to himself, Ignis swiped the phone and raised it to his ear. “Noctis?” 

“I need your help, Ignis.” The prince’s voice was weak, his breathing too loud in comparison. The stress of his inflection told Ignis he had recently been crying. 

Ignis immediately tightened his grip on the phone, dropping the coffee on the table. He and Noctis had a sort of code, one they had created with Gladio when Noctis had first gotten a phone. If Ignis asked the question, “How’s it going?” the various answers Noctis gave were supposed to represent different crises in the event that he for some reason couldn't speak openly. They’d chosen that question because Ignis saw the prince so often that it was a bit silly of a question to ask, but also completely innocent sounding in practically any context. Ignis kept his own voice deceptively easy. “How’s it going, Noct?” 

“What?” Noctis sounded confused for half a second, then huffed. “No, it’s not like that. I just—please, Ignis. I really need you.” The prince made a choking sound. “I can't—.” 

“Where are you?” interrupted Ignis, ignoring the fact that refusing to answer the code question rendered the whole idea pointless. 

“The Citadel. My room. And I’m, uh, peachy, by the way.” 

Ignis wracked his brain for what _Peachy_ meant. They hadn’t done this in a long time. _Peachy_ , he was ninety-percent positive meant that the prince was not under an immediate threat, but that for some reason he couldn’t speak openly over the phone. Still, Ignis had to be sure. “Are you in immediate physical danger?” 

“. . . No.” 

Ignis was already pulling his shoes on, the phone tucked against his neck. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” 

“Thirty minutes? Where the hell are you?” 

“Somewhere it’ll take thirty minutes to get to you,” Ignis snapped. “Can you wait that long?” 

“I—yeah, I guess.” 

“You guess or you can?” 

“I can wait that long. Just hurry up,” Noctis said, then hastily added, “Please.” 

“Call me back if anything changes,” Ignis commanded, then hung up. He turned to the Glaive standing behind him, doing nothing to hide his curious gaze. “I need a ride to the Citadel. Now.” Ignis had taken the subway to the outer ring of the city last night, not wanting to have to deal with parking. 

The Glaive raised his brow. “I ain’t a chauffeur service.” 

“But you have a vehicle,” Ignis replied. “The sedan I saw parked outside last night.” The car in front of the apartment was a Frankenstein of various parts, but it had seemed functional enough under Ignis’s quick gaze. 

“Share one with a friend, yeah.” 

Ignis heaved a sigh. “Look, I need to get to the Citadel right now. I can and I will pull rank on you. Don’t make me do that, _please._ ” 

What Ignis meant that, was that he would use his emergency privilege as aid to Prince Noctis if he had to. He could officially act as an agent of Prince Noctis under very specific circumstances. If Ignis were forced to do so, everyone above him in rank would quickly hear about it, and whatever was wrong with Noct would become common news to all the upper echelons of the Citadel. Ignis was both threatening the Glaive and begging him at the same time. 

The Glaive him another searching look, then sighed heavily, dunking his head up and swallowing the rest of his coffee in one impressive gulp. “Come on then,” he said as he wiped his mouth. “And don’t insult me. I’ll get you there in twenty.” 

*** 

In fact, it took them twenty-two minutes to make it to the Citadel. Ignis didn’t thank the Glaive, and the Glaive barely waited for Ignis to close the car door before he peeled away from the curb. 

Despite the time of day, Ignis wasn’t stopped as he made his way down the twisting halls. He was well known as Noctis’s advisor. As he passed, the Citadel was its usual silent, sleepy self, which told Ignis that whatever was wrong wasn’t something public or generalized. Warily, he approached Noct’s room. The guard by the door shifted at Ignis’s approach, nerves obvious. 

“Master Scientia,” the guard greeted stiffly. 

Ignis nodded in greeting, glaring at the man, eyes narrowed. As he was stared down, the guard swallowed, but he refused to crack, remaining silent and professional. 

Gaze still unerringly focused on the guard, Ignis finally knocked on Noct’s door, announcing himself at the same time. “Prince Noctis, it’s Ignis.” 

The response was immediate. Noctis cracked the door open, obviously trying to keep them from seeing inside. He waved Ignis in, eyes averted. Ignis tried one last time to stare the guard down, but to no avail. So finally, he followed Noctis into the room. 

The first thing Ignis took in was Noctis himself. Though the prince has said he wasn’t in physical danger, Ignis still had to be sure. The teen’s eyes were a raw-looking red, face pale and drawn in contrast. He moved stiffly, like he often did after a major warping session, though Ignis knew for a fact that the prince had cut his training with Gladio short the day before. He was also avoiding direct eye-contact, mouth trembling ever so slightly. 

Frowning, Ignis let his gaze travel across the room. 

_His heart stopped._

Ignis stared at the scene before him, and his heart just stopped, his brain collapsing like a crashed computer program, his thoughts screaming, _does not compute._ Prompto Argentum, the prince’s high-school friend, was curled in a ball on the bed, half under the covers and clearly deeply asleep. He lay there wholly naked. A line of bruises ran down the visible side of his neck, and a couple of raw, red lines across his back suggested raked nails. But as Ignis stared, it was the sudden, strange feeling under his skin that threatened to destroy him. __

After having followed the feeling of his connection to Noctis across town, Ignis intimately recognized the sensation of magic against himself, that potent smell of a fresh implosion of power, a new Covenant. 

Ignis’s hands clenched and unclenched. He started to speak, then stopped. “Noctis,” he whispered hoarsely. “What have you done?” 

Keeping his head turned away, Noctis did not respond. He just stood there next Ignis, facing the scene of his indiscretion. 

Ignis had to be mistaken. He had to have misinterpreted something. But Noctis was doing nothing to disavow Ignis of his notion of what had occurred here, doing nothing to defend himself. _Why_ wasn’t he defending himself? The lack of response rankled Ignis more and more the longer it went on. He wanted to shake his prince, to demand answers. _Why? How? How could he—_

No. Ignis made himself take a deep breath. He needed to stay calm. Anger wasn’t a helpful emotion here. Fear, panic—Ignis couldn’t afford any of that right now. His one and only priority was to protect Noctis in whatever form that took. He had to find that place within himself where emotions held no sway, and so Ignis drew himself up. He kept his tone emotionless, firing off his questions in quick succession. “Who saw him come here? How did he get here? Did you invite him? When did this happen?” 

“I don’t know,” Noctis mumbled, “He just showed up.” 

Ignis fought to keep the accusation out of his voice. “We’re still at security level five, Noctis. Prompto isn't on the list of approved visitors. How did he just show up?” 

“He was at the gate. I went to get him.” 

Ignis kept his charge pinned with his gaze. “ _When_ did Prompto come here?” 

Noctis shook his head. “I don’t remember.” After another second faced by Ignis’s uncompromising glare, he added stumblingly, “Like two-ish. We went straight to my room.” 

Early afternoon. Two guard changes had occurred since Prompto’s arrival then, and the guards were supposed to check in on Noctis when they switched shifts. “When did _it_ happen?” Noctis hesitated, and Ignis swelled with command. “When. Did. This. Happen, Noctis?” 

“I don’t know!” Noctis exploded. He rubbed at his eyes. “It was after Jay when on shift though. He brought us sandwiches.” 

Jay was the regular night guard for Noct’s door. The man outside right now was called Leonard. “Did Guard Leonard see Prompto—afterwards?” 

“I don’t think so. I was already awake when his shift started, and I opened the door at five and talked to him. I didn’t let him see Prompto.” And then he had called Ignis as he had realized the significance of what he’d done. Noctis didn’t have to spell it out for the advisor. Ignis was starting to form a picture for himself of what had happened from these pieces. 

“Do you know if Guard Jay knows what happened?” 

Noctis looked like he was about to deny it, but then he shook his head. “He could have come in the room while I was asleep. I wouldn’t have known.” 

Ignis frowned, looked the sleeping Prompto, then back at Noctis. Though he wanted to just fall into panic and accusations, he couldn't afford that. He needed to get to problem solving. Their next course of action depended entirely on whether they could keep this a secret or not. Guard Leonard was so nervous outside the door; he must know that something was wrong, if not what. However, that could still be controlled. The real problem came from the potential of who else knew. If Guard Jay was not aware, they might have a chance. If he did know, perhaps they could convince him to remain quiet. But he might have already spoken to any number of people. The Citadel gossip chain was rather legendary. 

Then again, even if no one else knew now, the Kingsglaive and Crownsguard could all recognize each other to some extent. Ignis remembered the night of their own bonding, how Noctis had stiffened, frozen like a dog with a scent, and whispered, _‘magic,’_ before Nyx Ulrich had even come into view. The same man had recognized Noctis’s magic on Ignis last night, had even been able to distinguish it from the King’s. 

Was there a way to keep Prompto from the Citadel, from any potential run ins with the more observant retainers of the king? _Not likely._ Noctis was often surrounded by guards. They followed behind him when he went to school. They stood outside doors. If Prompto continued to spend any time with the prince, his connection would be discovered. 

_Fine_ . It couldn’t be fully hidden. Could it be twisted, perhaps? Turned into something less damaging? Ignis couldn’t imagine how. This ritual was for trusted retainers of the king. Kingsglaive who had gone through months and months of training, who had pledged themselves to Lucis. Crownsguard who swore to protect the king and Crystal with their lives if need be. Ignis and Gladio, while both young, had made that pledge themselves at various points in their lives. Not only was Prompto not that, but it was insulting to those that were. Insulting and dangerous. 

Ignis could no longer stop himself. “Noctis, how could you do this?!” 

The prince hunched down, shame twisted through every twitch of his muscles. He walked over and collapsed on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. 

Ignis wanted to run up to the teenager and grab him by the shoulder, rip him back off the bed, shake him, scream at him. _Why?_ Instead he followed the younger man. Crouching down, he deliberately settled himself on the floor next to Noctis’s knee, weight just barely pressed against the teen. 

Noctis did not react to Ignis’s movement, but he trembled slightly, and Ignis knew he was crying again. “I really fucked up, Ignis,” he whispered huskily. 

“Why did you do it?” 

Noctis fitfully shook his head. 

Ignis couldn’t bear to look at his younger friend. “Just tell me that, Noct,” he begged, feeling the wetness gathering in his own lashes, “Why?” _Why did you betray me?_ _Why did you seek out this child, bind him to yourself? Was I not enough? Was Gladio not enough?_

It wasn’t a betrayal though, not to Ignis at least. Ignis had no right to the prince. None all at. He had to remember that. 

Noctis shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” The answer was too flippant, obnoxiously so, but Ignis recognized the defensiveness that underlay it. 

“That’s not good enough. You owe me a better explanation than that,” Ignis said, putting all the force he could into the demand. “Why did you and Prompto do this? Even if you wanted to sleep together, why involve magic in it?” 

To Ignis’s relief, Noctis finally chose to answer the question. “We had a fight,” he admitted dully. “He was upset. It just kinda happened.” 

Ignis had not thought it was possible to be more horrified. If Prompto had been so upset, how could he have possibly given consent for something as life changing as the retainer’s magic? “You didn’t tell him what this meant? You took advantage of him?” 

Noctis did not deny it. 

Ignis found that he could not swallow. Noctis hadn’t denied it. _He hadn’t denied it._

Feeling like his limbs were underwater, Ignis stumbled back up from his crouch. He looked over at the other sleeping teenager, laying there naked and exposed, and he suddenly felt ashamed of himself. He had been so focused on the danger to Noctis and the Crown, that he hadn’t truly thought about Prompto on more than a superficial level. 

Noctis was saying something, but Ignis ignored it. He went to retrieve a towel and then searched the floor. _There._ A shirt and pants combo that didn’t belong to the prince. As Ignis held them up, he had a moment’s confusion. They weren’t pants so much as pajama bottoms. Had Prompto come here in his night clothes? 

Making a snap decision, he folded Prompto’s clothes and instead went through the prince’s dresser until he had a loose set of sweatpants and a plain black T-shit. 

He leaned over the blonde. Prompto was still deeply asleep despite the commotion. He was bruised and scratched, and Ignis felt another wave of outrage at his charge. _Why, Noctis? Why?_ There was dried come on the blonde’s stomach. Gently, ever so gently, Ignis proceeded to wipe him clean, and then, ignoring the boy’s nakedness, he dressed him in the soft clothes. 

“You didn’t even clean him up?” Ignis asked, his tone so sharp that despite his lower volume, he cut across whatever Noctis had been saying. 

Noctis scowled. “He told me not to touch him. I wasn’t sure what to do.” 

The advisor was about to demand more, but that was when his phone began to vibrate again. 

With an annoyed huff, Ignis jerked the phone from his pocket. _Gladio._ At least it was less unusual to receive a call from Gladio before dawn. He briefly thought about not answering, but Gladio wasn’t the sort of person to call just to have a chat. If he was contacting Ignis this early and not through text, it had to be important. 

Ignis glanced at Noctis. “Did you tell him?” He didn’t think the prince had, but he had to be sure. 

Noctis quickly shook his head. “No.” 

Ignis answered the phone with a swipe of his finger. “Ignis speaking.” 

“Yo, Specs,” Gladio replied, not bothering with a real greeting, “I just got back from a meeting with my dad. We need to talk ASAP. It’s about—.” All of the sudden, Gladio paused, letting his silence fill the void for an uncomfortably long moment. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. 

Ignis felt his grip on the phone tremble. Gods, Gladio was the least observant person in the world, except when he wasn’t. He opened his mouth to tell Gladio something, anything but the truth, but his eyes landed on the sleeping Prompto. Noctis was shaking his head again, begging with his eyes, and the words died on Ignis’s tongue. 

Gladio barked his next question. “Where are you?” 

Ignis swallowed, but still found himself unable to speak. He had been doing so well, had been so in control of the situation. And yet now faced with another person, potentially another ally, he was falling apart, suddenly overwhelmed by the impact of what Noctis had done and what that meant for them all. 

Gladio’s voice became even more authoritative. “Ignis. Where are you?” 

“I—.”’ 

“Oh, fuck this. I’ll be there in a minute.” With that, the phone went dead. 

Noctis groaned, real fear tracking its way across his expression. His eyes strayed back to Prompto like he couldn’t help himself. “Ignis,” he moaned, “How could you? He won't forgive me for this. You _know_ how he is.” 

Gladio must be planning on using the phone’s GPS to find him. Ignis squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make his mind work. Flipping the phone sideways, he texted Gladio, knowing his text would tell Gladio exactly where he was without any GPS involvement needed. 

_I: Go up the Laurel tree. Not the front._

Gladio didn’t answer, but the read receipt told Ignis that the Shield had seen his message. That done, he numbly walked to the balcony door and unlocked it. The he went and sat on the bed, more collapsing down than any graceful movement. 

As Ignis sat down again, Noctis stood back up, turning and facing his advisor. _“Ignis,”_ Noctis said again. 

Ignis, whose patience with the prince was legendary, found he could no longer take it. He snapped. “If you didn’t want him to know, perhaps you should have thought about that before fucking a magical bomb into your teenage friend.” 

Yelling was not the right move to make. Noctis bristled at Ignis, finally given something concrete to fight beyond his own thoughts. “Fuck you, Ignis. You don’t have the right to talk to me like that.” 

Gods, he was so _fucking_ tired. Ignis’s voice dropped dangerously low. “Is that so?” he hissed. “Then, I apologize for my language, _Your Highness._ ” 

Pain raced across Noct’s face before being buried under retaliatory aggression. Ignis only had time for a flash of guilt before the prince was snarling again. “Don’t act like you’re coming from a high ground, Ignis.” There was strange, malicious triumph in his eyes. “You’re just selfishly jealous of anyone else who touches me. You always have been, and—.” 

Ignis was suddenly aware of a stinging pain in his hand. He held his open palm up, staring at it uncomprehendingly, then back at the prince. Noctis stood before him, eyes wide, eyebrows drawn in such a perfect picture of astonishment that it would have been funny in any other context. Red was beginning to blossom across the teen’s left cheek. 

“You slapped me.” Noctis said, incredulous. They stared at each other, and Ignis found he had nothing verbal to offer. Noctis repeated himself. “You—You.” He was interrupted by the sound of boots clattering on the balcony. 

They both turned to look at the same time. Gladio dropped from one of the wider branches onto the balcony, immediately crouching to hide beneath the railing. He opened and closed the glass door with barely a sound. Then he stood tall, surveying the scene before him. Ignis watched him realize what had happened in real time through the whiplash of expressions working their way across his face. “Astrals in fucking hell,” he said faintly. Like Ignis, his first thought went to damage control. “Who else knows?” he demanded. 

Ignis answered tonelessly, “There’s no real way to be sure.” He found he couldn’t directly look at Noctis at the moment, the sight of the prince’s shocked face playing over and over again on repeat. “The guard outside suspects something. I think we would be foolish to think the night guard is unaware as well.” 

“Jay?” asked Gladio, demonstrating he knew as well as Ignis who surrounded the prince in his daily life. 

“Yes.” 

Gladio absorbed that for a moment, then said, “I’m calling my father.” 

Both Ignis and Noctis tensed up at the same moment. “You can't,” protested Noctis. 

Gladio’s expression was uncompromising. “I have to,” he said, “We can't hide this or deal with it by ourselves.” 

Ignis felt two competing emotions at that. On the one hand, letting someone else take responsibility was appealing in the guiltiest way, but on the other, getting the Citadel involved was beyond perilous, politically. And Gladio was not the most politically minded person here. That was Ignis’s job. 

“You know how dangerous that is,” Ignis said. “This will destroy you and your father’s political capital with the Council.” 

“What?” demanded Noctis, just as Gladio snarled, “You think I don’t exactly how this is going to play?” 

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Gladio,” Noctis insisted, interrupting his Shield. 

Gladio rounded back on Noctis before Ignis could get a word in. “You don't get it, do you?!” he exploded, his words suddenly gaining several decibels of volume. Frankly, Ignis had expected this explosion to happen much sooner. He was surprised that Gladio had held out as long as he had. “All we did to protect our positions together; it was all for nothing because of what you’ve done! Half the Council has always disagreed with how much freedom your father gives you, and the more ambitious ones are seeing an opportunity to amass power as your dad fades—.” 

“You mean dies,” jeered Noctis, “Call it what it is.” 

“ _Fine_ ,” Gladio refused to look ashamed or stop his rant “dies then. It doesn’t change the fact that a lot of people would be happier with a monarchy that spends its time powering the wall and nothing else. They’ll say you can't be trusted, that you need to be controlled.” 

“No one controls me,” Noctis spat, the reaction more automatic than anything else. 

“Clearly,” Ignis dryly inserted. His hand still stung, and he rubbed it against his pants leg in his anxiety. “We _have_ to hide this. I’ll deal with Guard Jay and Leonard. Gladio, you get Prompto out of the Citadel.” 

For some reason, rather than agreeing, Gladio was looking at him like Ignis had finally lost his fucking mind. At fact he confirmed when he said, “Have you lost your fucking mind? No. Absolutely not. I won't do it.” 

Ignis blinked at him. He and Gladio often had differing ideas about how to handle Noctis, sure, but the Shield had never fully opposed him on something like this before. Ignis found he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “They’ll descend on Noctis like vultures,” he said. 

Gladio still didn’t back down. “Maybe that’s what he deserves.” 

Ignis pressed him. “Is that what Prompto deserves?” he asked. It wasn’t a fair question, but he demanded it anyway. 

“You could probably start with asking me,” came a sudden, strained voice. Ignis jerked around to see the blonde struggling to sit up in bed. Prompto had finally woken up. 

*** 

**Prompto** 

*** 

Prompto woke with his limbs aching and sore. Though he kept his eyes closed, he could tell that he was bathed in soft light, and for a second he felt confused. His room was never this warm, yellow color. The little window above his bed just didn’t get enough sunlight. And his bed wasn’t this soft. Instead of being jabbed by that one spring that always got him if he slept on his back, he felt like he was sinking into a sea of pillows. _What?_

“They’ll descend on Noctis like vultures.” 

Prompto recognized Ignis’s mild accent and commanding intonation, and with those words, everything that had happened over the past few days came flooding back. His parents’ revelations about Prompto being secretly some rescued Niflheimian clone experiment. Being told he was leaving everything behind. Running away. Going to Noctis, fighting with the prince. 

Fucking his best friend. 

“Maybe that’s what he deserves.” That was Gladio, his deeper voice. 

“Is that was Prompto deserves?” 

And then Prompto realized that they were planning around him, talking about him and his choices like he was a game piece to be controlled. He wrenched his eyes open. The three of them were perched on the other side of the massive bed in a semi-circle. Noctis was curled in on himself despondently, both of the other men towering over him. 

Prompto made himself sit up. The motion was way harder than it should have been, like he had spent the last month deathly ill and bed ridden rather than the past few hours at most. ““You could probably start with asking me,” he said, his weak voice cutting the other conversation off. 

As one, three faces swiveled back across the bed. Prompto met Noctis’s gaze with a challenge, though it made his chest clench painfully. The prince’s eyes were red and lifeless, and they quickly flickered away from Prompto like he just couldn’t bear to hold his friend’s gaze. 

Trying not to let it hurt him, Prompto instead took stock of himself. Someone had dressed him in the interim in what had to be Noctis’s clothes. They didn’t quite fit. He wasn’t sure if that should make him feel violated or not. Deciding to let it go as the least of his current problems, Prompto steeled himself and then lowered his legs so that they hung off the bed. Gingerly, he slid himself down, testing how easily his feet could hold his weight. Everything hurt, but he managed to stand more or less. 

The real problem with standing up was that it allowed gravity to do its work on him. Flexing his gluts made a deep ache ring out from his core, and he felt the cold dribble of something sticky and wet leak down his thighs. He wasn’t the type to hold sex as some sacred thing, but this remnant of the physically of what they had done made him feel weak and oddly shamed. After all, it wasn’t like Noctis had come leaking out of his royal ass. Some stupid, self-hating part of himself screamed that he was filthy, marked. 

Even though someone had dressed him, he had the paranoid thought that the others all knew what was beneath his pants, that they could see his humiliation. He wanted to curl back into a ball, be as small as possible. If he’d had the strength to move, he probably would have done it, but instead he stood frozen, staring at his friends. 

He suddenly wanted to be alone, to nurse his wounds in private. But there was nowhere safe to go. Going home meant facing his parents, standing before them with cum leaking out of his ass. 

The others were watching him, waiting to see what he would do. “Help me get to the bathroom,” he finally commanded, staring first at Ignis, then at Gladio. He didn’t let himself wonder at the force of his own tone. “I want to take a shower.” 

Gladio moved first. “Right,” he said, and then he had one arm under Prompto’s shoulder. Prompto tensed at his approach, but the Shield ignored him. Gladio moved strangely slowly, making his actions large and obvious, even as he ignored Prompto flinching away. Together they wobbled towards the bathroom. Neither Ignis nor Noctis said a word. 

Noctis’s shower had a bench and a detachable showerhead, likely additions from when he had been wheel chair bound. They served to make the act of scrubbing himself possible for Prompto, who immediately collapsed onto the bench after Gladio left. He’d almost been afraid that his mind would break down as soon as he was alone, that he would finally be overcome by everything he had done over the past day, but instead he remained numb. He was mechanical as he took soap and a loofah to himself, turning the water up as hot as he could stand it. 

There was an odd buzzing in the back of his mind. The sensation was sort of like seeing a flash of color out of the corner of his eye, except nothing all at like that. It was distracting, but only if he let himself linger on it for too long. 

_Why had he done it?_ He and Noctis had been close friends for about two years now, and Prompto had been crushing on the prince for nearly that long. Like the current buzzing sensation in the back of his mind, Prompto’s feelings had always been distracting, but only if he let himself linger on them. Prompto had never understood the type of person who grew a friendship solely with the intent of making it more, who became offended when they realized that the other person didn’t feel as deeply as them, those so called nice guys. He’d always been able to separate his feelings for Noctis and his friendship with Noctis. Though maybe because until now, he had never seen any reality in which those feelings led anywhere. 

Noctis had certainly never acknowledged knowing how Prompto felt. But he had to know, right? He had to know that Prompto would never just fuck his best friend on a whim. Or maybe he didn’t. After all, Noctis seemed perfectly fine fucking his best friend on a whim. 

And that was the worst thing. Now, the morning after, Prompto felt a lot more in control of himself. He could see how his day had spiraled yesterday, one revelation and trauma after another, how that had coupled with the drunkenness of the prince’s magic. He’d felt so out of control, so manipulated and trapped, and Noctis had offered a way to say, ‘fuck you,’ to all that. He’d purposely made the worst decision possible, and now he had to live with it. 

*** 

When Gladio offered to take Prompto home, Prompto sensed the underlying argument with Ignis in the way they glared at each other. They had obviously been arguing while he was in the shower. But Gladio was a force of nature, and he ignored the looks Ignis gave him with a challenge that the other man seemed unwilling to meet. 

Noctis, for all that this was his fault, stayed out of it, morosely staring at his knees. Prompto thought he should say something to his friend, anything, but his throat remained frozen. All he could think about was how Noctis had spoken to him last night, the uncomfortable dominance of the prince’s behavior. 

In the end, Prompto didn’t actually say goodbye to his friend. It seemed like he was out of his own body as Gladio gripped him by the shoulder, both leading him and making sure he didn’t fall on his face. He was led out of Noctis’s room in silence. Gladio nodded imperiously to the guard, who gave them a startled look. But the Shield offered no explanation, and soon they were walking through ornate hallways, down an elevator, then another, until finally they came to a dim carpark. 

Prompto couldn’t help but feel the eyes of the guards and Citadel employees they passed. Could they sense what had happened? Ignis had implied they would. He felt like an ant under a magnifying glass. 

The silence stayed as Gladio herded him into a black SUV and then peeled out the carpark. The Shield didn’t bother to ask Prompto’s address, even though to the best of his knowledge Gladio had never been there. 

It didn’t seem to take any time at all before they were parking on the street in front of Prompto’s apartment building. Prompto was pretty sure where they were stopped wasn’t even a legal parking space, but he didn’t say anything. Apparently Citadel employees could do whatever they wanted anyway. 

“Come on,” Gladio grunted, the first he had spoken the entire car ride. 

The Shield climbed out of the car with Prompto, and the blonde blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected Gladio to do anything but drop him off. But the Shield beat him to the door, knocking two short raps before Prompto was able to scramble up the steps after him. 

Prompto’s father answered the door. The man glared at Gladio like the Shield was personally responsible for Niflheim, but Gladio didn’t so much as blink. He greeted Prompto’s father as if this was any other first meeting. “You must be Prompto’s father,” he said, unfailingly polite. 

“I am.” 

“I have some very delicate matters I need to discuss with you about your son,” Gladio replied with a quick glance at the blonde. Prompto thought the glance was supposed to be reassuring, but Gladio wasn’t very good at that. 

“You could have asked me if I wanted help talking to my parents,” Prompto muttered as they were both gestured in. 

“Not just about you anymore, Prom,” Gladio whispered back in his low, gruff voice. 

Noctis must have told Gladio and Ignis that Prompto’s parents were planning on leaving the country with their son. As he spoke to Prompto’s parents, it was clear that Gladio had no idea of the illegitimate connections the Argentums had. He talked about the difficulty that a Covenanted person had in getting a Visa to leave the country, never once seeming to suspect that Prompto’s family had no intentions of obtaining a legal Visa. 

Apparently, the power that Covenanted people had was too great to allow them to leave the country willy-nilly and risk falling into the clutches of the empire. For Prompto, the information was just one more brick sinking his stomach to the floor. Had Noctis considered this when he had given Prompto his magic? Had it been an intentional ploy to keep the blonde here? Prompto wished he still had the chance to demand answers, but he hadn’t realized these implications until Gladio laid them out for his parents. 

Gladio spoke about the Covenant itself in clinical terms, placing the blame neither on Noctis or Prompto. The way he described it, the Covenant may as well as fallen in their laps, like Noctis’s dick just happened to land in Prompto’s ass. He apologized to Prompto’s parents then, telling them that they had the full support of the Citadel, that they just had to ask and Gladio would see it done, whatever they needed. 

Except for the Visa part. He didn’t say it, but it was heavily implied with his apologetic air. 

As he was leaving, Gladio turned and gave Prompto a lingering stare. “You too, Prom. I know things are a little rough with Noctis right now, but if you need anything, all you have to do is call me, okay?” 

Prompto just nodded, and finally Gladio left. As soon as he was gone, Prompto’s father walked up behind the blonde and spat, “What in the name of fucking Astrals have you done now, Prompto?” 

*** 

**Ignis Scientia** 

*** 

Ignis wished he had argued with Gladio more before the Shield had taken Prompto though the entire Citadel reeking of magic. Though faced with Gladio’s uncompromising opposition, part of him wondered if Ignis himself were in the wrong, wanting to do whatever it took to hide this. But no. Gladio was not a subtle person, but that didn’t mean subtlety wasn’t necessary in this ever dangerous political atmosphere. 

As soon as Gladio and Prompto left, Noctis turned his back to Ignis and crawled into his bed. It didn’t take very long for his unsteady, anxious breathing to even out into a deep sleep. Ignis had the ridiculous, bitter thought that Noctis didn’t deserve such a respite while the rest of them were still dealing with his mess. But this need for rest was a product of magical exhaustion, not a sign of his lack of remorse. Ignis bit those feelings back. 

Gladio returned about an hour later, this time coming through the front door. Noctis was still asleep. The Shield didn’t waste any time. “I’m telling my father,” he said to Ignis. 

Ignis held in his snappy response. They were both stretched to the max with tension, and they couldn’t afford to take that out on each other right now. “Why bother to inform me at all, if you don’t intend on heeding my advice?” he asked. Gladio’s raised eyebrows informed him that he hadn’t been very successful at reigning in his frustration. 

The Shield snorted unkindly, then with a significant look said, “You were supposed to check up on him last night.” 

That made Ignis pause. “I—,” he began. But this wasn’t his fault. He’d had no way of knowing that Prompto was in the Citadel and that Noctis, who had been so opposed to sex with anyone at all, would choose, of all things, to fuck his underage friend. 

But Gladio wasn’t finished. “You might want do something to hide that, by the way,” he said, pointing to his neck. Ignis, twisted to look in the full length mirror that hung next to Noctis’s closet. A dark purple hickey had blossomed on his neck. When Ignis turned back to his friend, there was condemnation in the Shield’s normally warm brown eyes. “Of all people, I thought you were the person who would always put him first. But I guess getting your dick wet turned out to be a bigger priority after all.” 

“That’s not fair,” Ignis replied, staring at his friend with growing horror. He tried to say it firmly, but somehow his voice came out small and fluttery. “I was—.” 

“You were what?” Gladio asked derisively. “Protecting Noctis by getting laid? Looking for the traitor up someone else’s asshole?” 

Ignis remained silent. 

Gladio snorted again. “Oh, and by the way. It’s taken care of.” 

“What?” 

“My dad found the traitor,” Gladio explained. “They’re interrogating her right now. It’s what I was originally calling to tell you.” 

Ignis drew himself up, heart suddenly hammering for an entirely different reason. “Who?” 

“Name’s Glaive Ziegler. Anika Ziegler. Gralean refugee. Came to Insomnia seven years ago. Been in the Kingsglaive for three. She has ties to two Niflheimian resistance groups. Plus, she was one of the five who had the opportunity to hide that damn duffel bag.” 

Ignis absorbed that information. _Could it be that easy?_

Gladio took Ignis’s silence as acceptance. “Look, I don’t understand you right now,” he said. “What Noctis did—it’s beyond fucked up. Prompto’s a fucking kid. I know what you’re gonna say, he’s the same age as Noct and everything.” 

Ignis had not actually been about to say anything of the sort. 

Gladio continued, “But Prompto’s still a fucking kid in the way none of us are. You want to protect Noct, I get that, but some consequences you don’t get to hide from. He’s got to learn how fucked up this was, and if dealing with all the political bullshit that’s gonna come from this is how that happens, then I say bring it on. He’s gotta fucking learn.” 

“There’s making him learn a lesson, and then there’s giving the Council the ammunition it needs, while the King is sick and weakened, to take power away from Noctis and turn him into a puppet in all but name only,” Ignis insisted. 

Gladio exploded, “He fucking raped his best friend, Ignis!” 

Ignis stomached clenched and turned in on itself at the r-word. Of course Gladio would be the first to drop such a loaded word during this nightmare. He stared at his friend. “It wasn’t—.” 

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Gladio spat. “You’re making me sick right now.” The pure venom in his voice took Ignis aback. “I can't bear to look either one of you in the face.” And with those words, he stalked out the room, slamming the door behind himself. Ignis could only watch him leave. 

Ignis gave himself a single moment to mourn and to feel the helplessness of how utterly alone he was in his responsibility. 

One breath. 

Two. 

Then he steeled himself. 

Gladio would tell Clarus, and in the worst light possible. Clarus would then tell the King, again in the worst light possible. Meanwhile, someone, either one of the guards or someone who had seen Prompto leave, would start the Citadel rumor chain. He had to minimize this somehow, to make it seem a teenage indiscretion rather than a smack in the face to everything the Covenant stood for. He was fighting against inertia. Gossip always made the worst out of a situation, which meant he had to find a way to make the teenage stupidity angle seem more natural than the deliberate ‘fuck you’ to the Covenant angle. 

He rummaged in Noctis’s dresser, ignoring the sleeping prince until he found a balled up scarf. Noctis wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something like that, but it had been a present from some distant noble. Wrapping his neck, he stole the prince’s toothbrush and comb, cleaned himself up, then went out in the hall to where the guard was still standing obediently at his post. 

“Man,” said Ignis with a hearty laugh that would have rang false to anyone that knew him. “Leonard, you would not believe what I just had to deal with. Fucking royalty.” As the guard leaned forward, eager to be the first to receive this juicy gossip, Ignis smiled a smile that never reached his eyes. 

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Thanks again for all the support. I've been sitting on this chapter for a while and have actually pretty much finished the next one too. I'm not the kind of person who holds them back just to spread them out, so now that I'm back in fandom, chapter 9 should be posted very soon.


	9. To Be Worth It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis faces some consequences, and Prompto chats with a pregnant, female version of Dumbledore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *There is a depiction of interpersonal violence here. I'll describe it in the end note for those that want it. Otherwise, we actually do start to get more cheerful at some point in this chapter....I promise.

*** 

**Noctis Lucis Caelum** 

*** 

“Let me make sure we all fully understand this,” said Councilor Bronns. He was an older man, well respected in the Council and in the greater Citadel community. He was also extremely conservative, often directly connecting the country’s safety to its morality and favor with the Gods. “You used your Gods-given magic, bestowed upon you by Bahamut Himself, Blessed be his Name, for the express purpose of protecting the light of this world against the forces of darkness which threaten to destroy us all; you used that holy gift to have sexual intercourse with another man, _a boy_ , for your own selfish pleasure?” 

A round of tittering went through the various council members seated at the high table. Noctis stood at one end, hands clasped behind his back. Gladio was at attention right behind him. At the other end of the table sat the King, his own Shield next to him. Ignis was seated somewhere in the middle of the council table, squashed between two minor bureaucrats. 

The rumor mill had started almost instantly after Prompto left the Citadel, eclipsing the news of the discovered traitor, until one of the generals had called an emergency council meeting barely two days later. 

Noctis risked raising his eyes from where they were lowered to meet his father’s gaze across the expanse of the table. Like often happened, he found he couldn’t read what he saw there. 

A woman, also known for her more conservative values and a particularly biting tongue spoke next, “Prince Noctis, you were aware of the importance of your magic to safety of Lucis as the only thing standing between everything we love and hold dear and total annihilation, correct? Your royal training has educated you on that much, surely?” She shot a venomous look at Ignis, who merely met her gaze blandly. 

Huffing, she instead turned to Noctis. He stood in silence, nerves burning with tension until he realized that she expected an answer. He hated this, hated how they all judged him like they had any idea of what his life was like or how it should be lived. They didn’t have the magic constantly churning under their skin, whispering in their ears. A few of them had known a touch of that power through the King, and they thought that made them fucking experts. Well, he hadn’t asked for advice, and every last person in this room could go to hell. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what they thought about him. 

He raised his eyebrows in what he knew was just a hint too disrespectful a manner, feigning surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought that was a rhetorical question,” he said with a sweetness that barely covered the taste of poison underneath. “Do I know how important my magic is to the country? Well, I fucking hope so, seeing I’m the only backup battery you have.” 

Another round of tittering and gasps circled the room at his cursing, but it had its intended effect; it finally made King Regis join the conversation. “Prince Noctis,” the king said, his voice easily carrying over the chatter, “You will speak with respect or you will not speak at all.” 

Noctis took a little too long to give in, holding his father’s gaze. “Yes, Your Majesty.” 

“Enough.” This came from Drautos, who stood up from his chair and slowly turned a semi-circle, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room. “This is ridiculous. Prince Noctis may be a special case, but he has been charged with the misuse of the Crystal’s magic, a crime which the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive have been dealing with since the inception of our organizations.” He gave an acknowledging nod to Clarus, who courteously returned it. “This is not a matter for the entire Council to hear so that gossip mongers can pick over sensational details like vultures with a carcass. Councilor Altea is correct that the Prince’s abilities are of vital importance to our national security, which means that he should be dealt with through channels that were made for such issues.” 

“Meaning?” asked Councilor Altea. 

“The military. I do not blame Prince Noctis for making unwise decisions. We cannot forget that whatever else he may be; he is a teenager first. But a teenager whose body is a dangerous weapon. Gladiolus Amicitia has been a fine tutor for the Prince’s weapon’s training. No one could have done better. Nor do I blame anyone for the decision to have Gladiolus continue his training incorporating the Prince’s awoken magic. Gladiolus knows the prince, knows his physical limitation and strengths; it made sense. However, we have now learned the flaw of that reasoning. Whatever experience with weapons the Amicitia heir may have, he does not have that with magic. 

There is only one organization here that has experience teaching people how to use the wilder aspects of the Covenant’s magic appropriately and wisely, and that is the Kingsglaive. The Prince should be put in the Kingsglaive training program just like any other recruit until he has sufficient control and understanding of his magic.” 

“Full Kingsglaive training? What about his schooling?” asked another council member. 

Drautos shrugged. “The prince has a tutor. Removing him from the local school will not only allow him to focus on the necessities, but will also help prevent any more—incidents.” 

Councilor Bronns spoke up again. “I agree that the prince has proven he is not in a place where he can handle his royal responsibilities.” The man looked at Drautos. “And you make an excellent point that we must have understanding for his youth and inexperience. I believe we should go even further. Joining the Kingsglaive temporarily and experiencing where his magic is _meant_ to be used would be an excellent learning opportunity. In order to focus completely on that, Prince Noctis should be temporarily removed from all of his royal duties until Captain Drautos proclaims him fit for duty.” 

“Absolutely not.” Ignis jumped up from his seat. “Councilor Bronns, you go too far. If you want Prince Noctis to learn responsibility, then removing him from what responsibilities he does have makes no sense.” 

“I must agree with Master Scientia, Councilor Bronns,” said Captain Drautos, “Removing Prince Noctis completely from his responsibilities seems a rather drastic action.” He turned to the king. “Your Majesty, what say you?” 

The King was the absolute ruler in certain aspects of government, such as the military, but he was constrained by the Council in almost everything domestic. He had always controlled everything about Noctis’s education and youth because the Council had always chosen to have little to say on it. However, if the Council made an official decree, the King would not be able to go against it without ruffling more than a few feathers and potentially causing a governmental crisis during a time when unity was of utmost importance. Noctis knew his father would not risk that for him here, not when this all stemmed from his mistake. 

Of course, an argument could be make that this course of action treaded on the King’s military powers, since it involved the Kingsglaive. Noctis wondered if his father would try to wangle his authority back through that. 

Noctis once again met his father’s eyes, and once again found it impossible to guess what his father was truly thinking. Then the king spoke. “Like any father, it pains me to see my son make bad choices. And it is difficult to admit that my own choices for how to discipline him may have been inadequate. Captain Drautos is one of my most trusted friends and advisors. If he says that he can help my son learn the discipline he so clearly needs, then I am all for it.” He waited for a round of nods to go across the room. “I also agree with my Captain that this a sensitive issue, not for the Council at large. Unless someone objects to Captain Drautos’s motion, then I don’t see the need for further discussion or a formal decree. Captain Drautos will oversee Prince Noctis’s progress. The Prince will be put completely in the Kingsglaive training program and removed from his royal responsibilities until both Captain Drautos and Councilor Amicitia have agreed that he ready to be reinstated. This should address any lingering concerns of the Council, and if there are no objections then I’m calling this meeting to a close.” 

There were none, and so Clarus banged down on his gavel, officially closing the emergency meeting. 

The entire time they had been speaking, Gladio had stood like a statue behind Noctis, but as the various Council members stood up, he moved closer to Noctis, nearly pressed up against the prince’s back. Through that contact, Noctis could feel his thrumming tension. 

Noctis stared at the wall as people began to shuffle out. He refused to meet ay curious gazes, doing his best to keep his mind numb and empty. It was the only way to survive something like this. 

Soon there was just Noctis, Gladio, Clarus, Drautos and the King left. Captain Drautos walked up to Noctis, his expression sympathetic. “I know that wasn’t what you wanted to hear, and perhaps you’re afraid of what sort of discipline being put with the Kingsglaive entails. But rest assured, when I said you would be treated like any other Glaive, I meant just that. I’ll have a place set up for you in the barracks. I expect you there at 22:00 hours tonight on the dot.” 

Noctis struggled to follow. “The barracks? But—.” 

“Yes, the barracks, Your Highness,” said the Captain, his gaze uncompromising. “As of this moment you are not Prince Noctis, you are Trainee Noctis. You will refer to me by my title or as Sir, as well as all other members of the Glaive and Guard who are above you. Which right now is everyone. Do you understand?” 

It was like swallowing glass, but eventually Noctis answered, “Yes, Sir.” 

*** 

Gladio walked Noctis back to his room, staying just a step behind the disgraced prince as he ranted his way down the hall. “What does he think Drautos is even going to teach me? I’m already better at warping than anyone else in the Kingsglaive, and it isn't like holding in my magic while I’m fucking is something he can teach me.” 

“Enough,” Gladio interrupted, his voice weary and strained. “Just—enough—Noct.” 

Noctis stopped dead in the hallway. There was no one in sight, though one could never truly trust that they were unwatched inside the Citadel. Noctis glared at his Shield, hating the vision of defeat and sorrow he saw there. Gladio had no right either. No fucking right. “Are you happy now?” Noctis cried out. “I’ve been put in my fucking place, just like you’ve always wanted.” He slammed his fists into Gladio’s chest. 

The Shield didn’t so much as budge, and when he spoke, his voice was infuriatingly calm. Noctis wanted Gladio to be as out of control as he was, to be someone he could rage against. But Gladio just said, “No, I’m not happy.” 

Noctis snarled, some destructive part of him still wanting to get under Gladio’s skin. “You know what? You piss me off so much. You’re always so high and mighty, like you don’t shit in the same toilet as the rest of us. Like you’re some fucking saint while I’m a monster. Well fuck, maybe they should make you heir instead.” 

Gladio’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I certainly didn't assault my best friend.” And of course, it would always stem back to that. 

Noctis snorted loudly. “Like you’re a saint. You liked overpowering me,” he accused. “You’ve always liked making me feel weak.” 

Gladio stilled as Noctis spoke, his expression closing off. His voice was strangely careful when he finally responded. “You really think that?” 

Noctis wouldn’t let himself be made unsure. “Well, yeah,” he said. 

Noctis watched as Gladio closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then leveled his gaze on his charge. “You’re wrong, Noct.” Noctis drew himself up, about to argue, but Gladio held his hand up and said, “No, wait, listen to me.” Unwillingly, Noctis fell silent. “There are a lot of aspects to our relationship that make me feel powerless, that’s true,” he said, his voice still that careful tone. “And sometimes I get frustrated about that and I want to do stupid shit to feel more in control. That’s true too. And sometimes _you_ frustrate the shit out of me.” 

He fell to a thoughtful silence until Noctis prompted, “But?” 

“But what we did was a game, Noctis. It only worked because it wasn’t real. I’m not—I’m not made stronger by your weakness.” His eyes were heavy with some emotion that Noctis struggled to read. 

Noctis knew he was being petty, but attacking Gladio was a lot easier than being lectured on what he had done to Prompto. “Bullshit,” he said. 

Gladio pursed his lips, clearly struggling to keep his temper in check in the face of Noct’s obstinacy. It didn’t seem to be a battle he was winning. “I know what you’re doing,” he said, the force of his gaze pinning Noctis. “But let me tell you something. I want you to fucking listen.” He waited, making Noctis nod before he continued. “You want to talk about power; Let’s talk about power.” He gestured to Noctis. “Follow me.” 

Together they slid through a side door, down another passage, and into the guest suite adjacent to the royal suite. Gladio walked with an odd tension, and Noctis realized that the Shield actually had completely lost his temper. He wasn’t sure what that meant though, that it hadn’t translated to yelling or a fight. Stopping suddenly, Gladio opened a door to reveal a dusty, ornate room, probably intended for visiting dignitaries. “Good enough,” he muttered as he flicked on the lights and locked the door behind them. “This is a fucking lesson neither of us are going to enjoy,” he said. 

“What are you doing—?” Noctis began. 

Gladio tackled him. Noctis saw it coming through some instinct of his magic, and he was already phasing sideways. But just as he sensed Gladio’s movement, Gladio seemed to sense his too, because the Shield was right there when Noctis’s phase ended. 

He drove his elbow hard into Noct’s stomach, and that was when Noctis realized that something more was going on. Gladio rarely pulled punches, but this was something else. This hit _hurt_ , hurt in a visceral, bone bruising way. 

Noctis struggled to take a breath afterwards, and Gladio used that relentlessly. Next, he punched Noctis in the face. Noctis moved enough to avoid a broken nose, but the Shield still clipped him in the chin. He felt the vibrations rattle up his skull as he tried to back away, to get himself room to retaliate. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” he gasped. 

For once, Gladio didn’t take the opportunity to verbally jab at the prince. The Shield attacked him in a way that Noctis had never experienced before, not even when Gladio had turned on him all those months ago in an attempt to bring out his magic. The fight was bloody and vicious. When Noctis blocked a kick with his forearm, the force of Gladio’s hit still pushed him back a step. If he retaliated, Gladio seemed to throw off even the hardest hits as if his body were made of stone. And Noctis was punished for those retaliations because they gave Gladio the chance to do as much damage to him in return as physically possible. 

Gladio ended it by herding Noctis towards the wall. Noctis saw it happening and he tried to phase around the Shield, to circle him, but Gladio was always there, always backed up to just the right spot to keep the prince in front of him. And then Gladio would wail on Noctis, crowding him backwards faster than he could fight back with phasing. 

If he had a weapon, Noctis could try to warp away, but he couldn't warp through walls and Gladio had locked the door. Gladio could just chase him around the room until the act of warping had tired Noctis out more than anything else could. Even as he thought about risking it, it was too late. 

Suddenly, Noct’s spine hit the wall. Gladio used his weight to press the prince back and keep his hands pushed against the wall. If Noctis couldn't throw, he couldn’t warp, and Gladio knew that. The Shield slammed his knee into Noctis’s groin, once, twice, then a third time, until Noctis was whimpering, only prevented from collapsing to the ground by Gladio’s knees. 

“Stop, please,” Noctis moaned. “I give in.” 

But Gladio did not stop. He let Noctis collapse sideways down onto his back and then followed the prince, grip still tight. The Shield finally let go of Noct’s hands to grab at his hair. With a powerful yank, Gladio smashed Noctis’s head against the floor and held him there. 

Noctis was so out of it that it took him a second to realize that the assault had finally stopped. Gladio still held him so tight that he could barely breathe, let alone move. Part of him knew that this was to prevent him from warping, but the other could only focus on how much he felt like he was suffocating. He heard a wheezing sound, only to realize that it was his own breathing. Gladio too, was breathing hard, heat pulsing against Noctis’s neck. 

“You wanted to talk about power,” Gladio snarled against his neck. “This right here—this is you made powerless—weak.” His grip tightened like claws in Noctis’s hair. “This is what I’m capable of, what I hold back every day. And it’s not something that you can ever forget, is it? How easily I beat you down into something helpless.” 

He roared in Noctis’s ear, “Well? Answer me!” 

“No!” Noctis squeaked out. “Goddammit, No. _Please,_ let me go.” 

Just like that, Gladio pushed himself off of Noctis. All of the sudden, the teen could breathe again. He felt weightless as he closed his eyes. Everything ached, throbbing, stabbing pains. His ears were ringing, but the sensation slowly lessened until he could hear other sounds, first and foremost, a throat spasming somewhere to his left. Then he realized that Gladio was puking, over and over, until Noctis could tell from the sound that he was dry heaving. Gladio groaned under his breath, “The fuck am I doing?” 

Noticing Noct’s attention, Gladio croaked quietly, “How do you think Prompto felt when he realized you were using your magic against him and he had no way to protect himself from you?” And then the most condemning of all. “When he realized that you were using sex to control him? Do you think he’ll ever forget that feeling?” 

Noctis didn’t move. He just laid there on the floor, eyes squeezed shut. 

His brain kept sending him flashes of moments, fire and blood, the acrid smell of daemon, another time when he had been rendered completely helpless. He had thought that he had finally gotten over that trauma, but laying here, it felt as real as if it had just happened. _Fuck you, Gladio_ , he thought viciously. 

Though he heard Gladio get up and move, he still flinched when he felt a callused hand on his shoulder. He wanted to cry as he felt the heat of his own magic stir under his skin, felt it lick towards Gladio and form an invisible rope between them. The ache in his jaw faded away, and the bruises that peppered him lost their vicious bite. This magic couldn’t fully heal, but it could stabilize and take the worst of the damage away. 

Gladio gave him another moment to sit there with his hurts and his humiliation, but then the Shield was gently grabbing under Noct’s armpits, pulling him up into a sitting position. Noctis unwillingly opened his eyes to see that Gladio had seated himself cross-legged across from him. 

When he saw that he had Noct’s attention again, Gladio spoke with a gesture to himself. “I’m six foot six, Noctis. Two hundred and fifty pounds. I didn’t choose to be a fucking giant, and I didn’t even choose to be trained in how to use every ounce of that bulk to most effectively hurt people. But I was. And I can never ever forget that. Because the people around me damn-sure won't.” His eyes were a deep well as he spoke, glittering with unshed tears. “Hurting other people. Hurting you,” he said, his breath going shaky on the last word, “It doesn’t make me feel powerful. It makes me feel weak.” 

He paused and then added, “And now I’ve got to live with the fact that you’re always going to have the memory of what I did today. I’ve got to live with the fact that some things you can't take back. Some things you can't just apologize for and make it better.” 

They stared at each other for a moment. “If you can't make it better, then what the fuck are you supposed to do?” Noctis demanded. 

“You fucking apologize anyway,” replied Gladio gruffly. “And then you do your damnedest to undo the harm you’ve caused. You do your damnedest, and you pray to the Gods that you’ve learned the wisdom to make better choices next time.” 

Noctis closed his eyes against Gladio’s gaze then. He felt himself on a precipice, the top point of an arc that could seesaw either way. Gladio was right. Some things you couldn’t take back. And some things you shouldn’t. Or rather, some things you didn’t have to, because some relationships, healthy or not, went beyond even the most egregious hurts. 

“What you just did was beyond fucked up,” Noctis said, and to his horror, there were wet tears forming in his eyes. 

“I know,” Gladio replied evenly, but Noctis heard the slightest quiver underneath. “I’m sorry for it. There was a better way to get through to you, and I didn’t take it. I fucked up too.” 

It was a strange testament to their relationship that Noctis didn’t offer forgiveness and Gladio didn’t seem to expect it. That wasn’t how they worked. 

Still, Gladio said it again, rubbing the back of his head as he spoke. "I went overboard there. I can't yell at you about self-control and then fail in the same way." 

Noctis wanted to ignore Gladio’s point out of spite, but his mind kept worrying over it like a piece of raw meat. Had Prompto really felt that way, that moment of pure panic and helplessness? Knowing that he was completely at the mercy of someone else? 

Had he felt that when they’d been kidnapped? Noctis, even through all that had happened, had never truly felt helpless that afternoon. He’d had Gladio, his magic, and his faith that his father would find him. His available choices might have been awful, especially in that last moment when he’d truly thought they would force him to have sex, but it had been so momentary. Gladio had ended the charade mere seconds later. Noctis hadn’t really had time to sink into that helplessness. 

But this thing with Gladio just now had almost been worse. _Because_ it was Gladio. 

Had Noctis done the same thing? 

Prompto had asked for it, the second time around. He hadn’t said no. But then, maybe the influence of the magic hadn’t allowed him to. And certainly he hadn’t understood what he was getting into power-wise with the magic. He hadn’t known what Noctis knew, that a Covenanted person would never be allowed to leave the country without clearance. 

Gods, he could feel Prompto even now, a tight thread that pulled on him, despite the fact that the blonde was on the other side of the city. 

_Actually . . ._

“Do you feel that?” Noctis suddenly demanded. 

“What?” Gladio answer was wary. He stood up from his crouch immediately, body tensing up for a fight. Noctis ignored him with a frown, sending his senses inward. There was a tugging sensation somewhere in his chest. He didn’t understand it. Until he did. 

“Prompto,” he said. 

Gladio’s eyes narrowed. “What about him?” 

Noctis blinked in astonishment, still not entirely believing what he was sensing was accurate. “He’s using—my magic. I think.” 

*** 

Gladio helped him pack a bag before leaving to go check on Prompto. The Shield hadn’t actually said that’s what he was doing, but they both knew it. The thing with Prompto had stopped their conversation short, but Noctis wasn’t sure what he would have said to Gladio anyway. _You’re an asshole, and you just beat me up to teach me a lesson like a psychopath. Care to explain yourself?_ But Gladio wasn't a psychopath. Just easily frustrated and not good at handling strong emotions. 

No, Noctis wasn’t quite sure how he felt about what just happened, except that he was a mix of humiliated, furious, and hurt. 

Noctis wished he had been able to speak to Ignis as well before being moved into the barracks. He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to say to the advisor either, only that it was _something._ He couldn't remember a time that he and Ignis had actually fought. Maybe once freshmen year when Noctis’ father had started to truly decline and Noctis had responded by acting out. And now, the last thing thing they had interacted meaningfully about was Noct's attack on Ignis's feelings and the subsequent slap. 

He never did find out who Ignis had been seeing that night that he and Prompto had been together, though in hindsight it was obviously the reason he'd been so far away and had come with a purple bruise on his neck. Noctis didn't care though. Ignis could do what he wanted. It wasn't like Noctis had needed him that night or anything. 

Either way, Ignis had been partially avoiding him, only coming to Noctis when he had a clear task or when other people were around. And now it was too late, at least for the foreseeable future. 

Gladio had known what would be allowed in the barracks though, which not surprisingly, wasn’t a lot. Drautos himself came for Noctis at the appointed time, leading him down the long rows of Kingsglaive housing. The permanent Kingsglaive housing was made of little suite apartments where each room had one to two bunks and a full kitchenette and sitting area. The training dorms were a different story however. Noctis would be placed in a long room with nine other recruits. These recruits had made it the Covenant stage of the training and were now learning the magic. Of the recruits that began this program, usually only one out of twenty or so made it this far. Once you made a Covenant with the king, there was no turning back. The others who had failed would be moved back to the army or let go altogether. 

All of his new roommates were in the dorm when Drautos led him inside. Their gazes were more curious than hostile, which Noctis was grateful for. They were also all at least four years older than him, if not more. The Kingsglaive expected complete professionalism from its recruits in terms of gender. Unlike pure physical strength, magical ability had nothing to do with gender, and here genders were completely mixed in terms of sleeping, bathrooms, and everything else. If you couldn’t handle that, then you were let go. It was an end that many a young, overly pompous men had met. 

This batch of recruits were a good mix and they were all unfailingly polite, and not much else. After Drautos left, Noctis got some unsubtle stares and awkward looks, but no one tried to reach out to him. When he didn’t make his own attempt, they slowly began talking amongst themselves again, their voices low. He sank down on his bunk. A thin man with glasses who reminded him far too much of Ignis had the top bunk. That man had left to go sit on someone else’s bed and play some card game after Drautos left and showed no signs of coming back. 

The cots on the bunks were lumpy and hard. Noctis suspected that this was supposed to be part of his punishment, the whole living rough aspect of it. But the joke was on Drautos and his father. Bad dreams aside, Noctis had never once struggled to fall asleep in his life, and a lumpy mattress wasn’t about to get in the way of that now. 

He couldn’t get Gladio’s words about Prompto out of his head, his traitorous mind turning them over and over in his mind. But eventually despite his circling thought and the murmur of the people around him, sleep dragged Noctis down into oblivion. 

*** 

**Prompto Argentum** 

*** 

Even after everything that happened, Prompto’s parents were still adamant that leaving the country was the best plan. They told him that they would make plans that took into account the danger of his magical connection being discovered, that they would find a way to leave without crossing through border control. It just might take a few weeks longer. 

However, they were still leaving. His parents were very firm on that point. During the conversation, his father made one scathing comment about Prompto’s life choices, but faced with the wrath of his wife, even Prompto’s father backed down, though not without some grumbling. It didn’t really matter. The next morning his father had left to take care of some business that his mother refused to explain. Prompto knew better than to expect him back anytime soon. 

Prompto went back to school two days later. Noctis had still not returned to school himself. Normally Prompto had other friends to hang out with when the prince wasn’t there, since Noctis was rather frequently absent. However, with the insane rumors going around, Prompto wasn’t sure how social he was feeling. 

As he entered the school courtyard, Prompto saw the track team standing together in a semicircle. Some aspect of the way they stood tipped him off that something was wrong. A primal instinct screamed danger and hostility. Still, he walked up to them, trying to smile as disarmingly as possible. As he came closer, he saw Rem, the Gralean immigrant who had helped him, standing in the middle of the circle, his head bent towards another boy. 

Rem looked up at Prompto’s approach, and his face became murderous as he recognized the blonde. There was nothing left of the kindness that had led to him giving Prompto his socks just three days earlier. 

Prompto stopped, his head swimming as all the other boys turned to stare at him with varying degrees of hostility. “Hey guys,” he greeted, trying and failing to ignore the awkwardness of standing like this in front of the track team. It was like he was on trial, though for what, he had no idea. 

Rem’s face darkened even further. The boy he’d been speaking to tried to grab his sleeve and hold him back, but Rem would not be deterred. He scowled and marched the few steps towards Prompto, fists clenched. Prompto tried to stumble back as he saw the other boy’s fist cock back, but he was too slow. A blur of color, and he felt the impact in his cheek and nose, stunning him. His shins collapsed backwards. 

“You lying asshole!” Rem screamed. He tried to launch himself down onto the fallen Prompto, but by then his friends had managed to grab him again, and they were pulling him back by the shoulders. “She was loyal! How could you do that her, betray her like that? She had nothing to do with anything!” 

Prompto’s face throbbed so much that it was difficult to process the other boy’s words. 

“Hey man, you know you can’t do that,” another boy was saying, trying to sooth the Gralean. “This won't help your mom.” 

“Your mom?” Prompto asked through the blood in his nose. 

In the grip of the other students, Rem vibrated with rage. “They arrested her for treason. Spilling state secrets.” He shook against the other boys. “My mom isn't a fucking traitor!” 

Prompto suddenly understood. Rem had told him about the Covenant and how much trouble his mother would be in if she were caught telling state secrets. And somehow she was now in trouble. “I didn’t say anything,” he protested, clambering back up. 

Rem screamed wordlessly and renewed his struggle against the others. He fought the hold of the other boys like a wild creature, and then Rem got a lucky break. He managed to shove his elbow back into the face of the boy holding his left shoulder, which made the other boy stumble sideways into another. All at once, there was only one boy holding Rem back. 

Rem launched forward again. Prompto has managed to stand back up in the interim, so he was on his feet as Rem came at him again. Adrenaline shot through his veins. He had no plans to get punched in the face again. 

Rem came at him swinging, but this time Prompto was ready. He turned his head sideways, the fist sailing harmlessly past. Some part of him noticed a trail of sparks follow the movement, but he was already focused on the next attack. As his punch failed, Rem simply decided to bodily smash into Prompto. But again, Prompto almost sensed the flow of movement around him, and before he could consciously consider his actions, he had twisted sideways out of the way. Rem stumbled, almost falling himself. Then he turned around. 

Prompto’s emotions crashed around him. He could feel the eyes of everyone in the school yard on him and Rem. The frightened, helpless shuffling of the track team, circling around the fighting boys. He felt trapped, suffocated. He tried to back up, to leave, but he hit the body of another student in the circle around him, and he was forced to take a step forward. 

Powerless. Helpless. Prompto took a heaving breath. “I don’t want to fight you,” he said to Rem. 

“Then you should have kept your mouth shut,” replied the other boy. “I know you were at the Citadel fucking your boy-toy that night. Everyone there knows. You and the bastard prince, trying to distract from your own shit.” 

Rem made to move against Prompto again, but before he could, Prompto felt a tightening in his gut. The mention of Noctis had done something to him, something he didn’t understand. There was vague murmuring in the back of his mind as he saw a vision so real he almost reached out to touch it. Noctis before him, naked, swirling with sparks of magic and power, drunk on it. Magnificent in his glory. _Swear it on your name, Prompto._

Sparks shimmered. Like in a dream, Prompto turned his body so that his right arm and leg faced forwards, elbow steady and locked, grip firm. In his hand was a pistol, shiny and polished. He had no idea where it came from, only that Rem suddenly froze and a gasp rang out, working its way back through the crowd. Prompto held the gun and knew, without knowing how he knew, that it was loaded, safety off, and that he was easily capable of hitting any target he chose within a thirty-foot radius. 

Rem’s eyes were wide, gaze trapped on the sight of the metal pointed at him. Prompto’s own arms didn’t waver, not the slightest tremble. The tension pounded out, the space between the flash and the sound of thunder. 

“Oh my God!” This new voice was higher pitched, and Prompto recognized one of his teachers. 

Then it hit him. He was in the middle of the school courtyard surrounded by dozens of people with a gun in his hand. 

_Shit._

*** 

“He had a weapon on school property. Dozens of witnesses can attest to that.” 

Both Rem and Prompto were sitting in tiny plastic chairs in the principal’s office. Prompto’s mother stood next to him. Rem’s own mother obviously wasn’t there, but another woman was, one who looked just like him. Prompto wondered if she was an aunt or something. 

Prompto’s mother had her hand resting on the back of his chair. He sensed her grip tighten. “You took him straight from the courtyard into this office. You searched him and the premises. There is no gun. You have no real evidence and without that, you cannot keep these inane charges against my son. If anything, he’s the one who’s a victim of that boy’s vicious attack.” 

_“Mom,”_ Prompto protested, but he was overwhelmed by the other woman. 

“Excuse me, I don't like the tone you’re taking here,” she said, her eyes glittering. “It takes two to tango. Boys fight; that’s a fact of life. But guns are an entirely different story. Don’t you dare put this on my nephew.” 

So she was his aunt. Prompto had been right. 

“Ma’am, I might not know what happened to the gun, but dozens of students don’t just lie,” protested the principal. “Do you keep a weapon in the home? Is it possible that your son somehow obtained one?” 

Prompto’s mother sniffed and lied through her teeth. “Of course we don't keep guns in our home. My husband abhors violence in all of its forms, and I really don’t like your implication, _sir_. Why would you assume we have a weapon in the home? Do you believe that we’re inherently more likely to own weapons and commit violence because we’re immigrants? I can't think of another reason you would assume such a thing. How dare you?” 

“That’s not what I said,” the principal began to protest. 

Prompto’s mother interrupted smoothly, her voice staying its calm, cool tone. Even though she had to be two heads shorter than him, she somehow managed to look down her nose at the hapless man. “No, it’s what you implied. An implication I’m inclined to discuss with the board.” 

“Now wait just one minute,” he blustered. 

“This is ridiculous,” cut in the aunt, reminding them that she was still there. “While, I think your son is an _uncontrolled_ menace, I maintain that boys will be boys. This isn't something that needs to be litigated with threats to the board. Give both boys some sort of detention and call it a day.” 

The woman’s eyes flashed at the word “uncontrolled,” and Prompto didn’t need it spelled out that she was referring to the magic. She wasn’t wearing black, but Kingsglaive weren’t required to on their days off. Maybe she worked for the Citadel somehow too. 

Prompto’s mother’s jaw worked up and down, like she wasn’t sure she wanted to accept the truce. “Giving both boys detention does seem the fairest solution,” she said cautiously. 

“Three days’ suspension for Mr. Argentum and Mr. Ziegler? The usual for fighting at school?” suggested the principal weakly. 

Prompto’s mother hesitated again. “Fine.” 

Next to her, Rem’s aunt nodded once, then gripped her nephew by the shoulder. “Out. Now.” 

Prompto and his mother waited for them to leave, then followed. Once alone in the car, she said to him tightly, “You can't do this, Prompto.” 

“It was an accident,” he protested. Unable to help himself, he fidgeted with the band over his wrist. With everything that had happened with Noctis, he and his parents had never actually discussed their own revelations further. 

“That’s not good enough,” she replied. “You have to be better than that.” 

_Better,_ because any scrutiny into his background could reveal that he was abnormal, _other._ This magic was turning out to be the worst thing possible for hiding his deeper secret. The ability to draw a fully loaded gun whenever he was in danger did not exactly pair well with hiding the crack-shot ability he had apparently been born with. 

He didn’t have the heart to argue with her, so he nodded and purposely turned his head to stare out the window at the passing houses. He heard her sigh, but ignored it. 

When they got home, Prompto’s mother left him at the house, stopping only to warn him that he wasn’t to leave under any circumstances. “I’ll know if you disobey me,” she said. “I have some contacts to meet and errands to run.” 

“When will you be back?” he asked her. 

She gave him a doleful look. “I’ll be back when I’m back. There’s plenty of food. Don't go anywhere. I don’t trust you not to summon half the arsenal in front of the city guard itself.” 

He hated himself for it, but discounting his recent explosion, he wasn’t the type to resist his parent’s authority to their face. So instead he made a rude hand gesture at her back. He suspected she knew what he’d done anyway, but she didn’t comment as she left him standing by the front door. 

He wondered what illegal spy things she was actually doing. Probably related to their need to leave the country without using official channels. _Thanks, Noctis._

He’d barely been home for thirty minutes when he heard the doorbell ring. They didn’t get guests or even solicitors very often, not in this neighborhood. Frowning, he went to open the front door. 

The man standing there turned out to be someone very familiar to him. 

“Gladio?” Prompto greeted dumbly, not quite believing that the other man was actually at his doorstep. “Why are you here?” He hadn’t intended the words to be aggressive, but his tone still came out way too harsh, and Gladio’s eyebrows narrowed in response. 

Gladio was wearing his black Crownsguard uniform, which Prompto didn’t exactly appreciate. He didn’t need his neighbors wondering what his family was doing to warrant visits from officials of the Citadel. “Hey there, Prompto,” said the other man. “It’s good to see you.” 

Prompto chose not to respond, staring at the Shield from his doorframe. He would not invite him in, he wouldn’t. He stared and stared and stared until finally Gladio said, “I wanted to check up on you, see how you’re doin’, Prom.” 

“I’m fine.” 

Gladio eyes traveled from the top of Prompto’s head down to his toes. “I see that,” he said neutrally. His tone was clipped, controlled. Everything about his posture spoke to how unthreatening he was trying to make himself. Something in Prompto ached at that, ached that Gladio would even feel the need to act that way. 

“If that’s everything . . .,” Prompto said as he inwardly cringed. 

Gladio shifted his feet. “No, it’s not.” He cocked his head, ran a finger through his hair, then said, “I just wanted to offer you something, I guess.” 

“Offer me something?” 

Gladio nodded. “This ain’t got nothing to do with Noct. But if you ever needed help, you know, needed someone to teach you about the retainer magic, well, that’s kind of my job. Just know that I’m here for you, no strings attached. Owe you that much at least.” 

Prompto blinked at him, then said coldly, “You know about what happened today, don’t you?” 

Gladio’s gaze turned wary, not that it wasn’t before. “I know you used the magic for the first time. Noctis felt it. That’s all I know though—.” 

“Get out.” Prompto was shaking. When Gladio didn't respond, he said more shrilly, “Get out!” 

Gladio raised both of his palms up non threateningly. “Alright then. Sorry to have bothered you,” he said as he backed up. “My offer still stands if you ever change your mind. See you later, Prompto.” 

*** 

**Ignis Scientia** 

*** 

Ignis met up with Gladio sometime after Noctis had been sent to move into the barracks with the other Kingsglaive. Well, he met up with Gladio in that Gladio found him in his room, halfway through a bottle of Cognac. 

“I can't believe you’re getting shitfaced on good shit like that,” Gladio said as he stood over Ignis, not bothering to hide his judgement. 

Ignis took another long drag, letting the burn settle warmly in his stomach before he replied. “It was a gift. From Baron Bronns.” 

Gladio absorbed that, then said with a snort, “You sure it’s not poisoned?” 

“No,” Ignis replied woefully. He took another swig for good measure. “What do you want, Gladio?” 

“You started the rumor mill, didn’t you?” Gladio said. 

Ignis blinked at him, fighting the muzziness of his head. “I tried to minimize it. Control its direction.” 

‘Didn’t work though.” 

“No it didn't,” Ignis said. “Is that why you’re here? To press upon me how much I’ve truly failed my charge? Because if so, I regret to inform you that there is nothing you can say to me that would make me feel more like a failure right now.” 

“I fucked up again too,” Gladio said, instead. 

Ignis wasn’t in the most charitable mood. “You? I doubt that,” he replied, laying the bitter sarcasm on thick. 

Gladio growled, then snatched the bottle from Ignis’s hands. He held it high as Ignis swore at him. “I think you’ve had enough, Iggy.” 

Ignis snarled at him. “I’ll be the judge of that.” 

Gladio spoke over him. “I attacked Noctis today.” 

Ignis stopped his reaching to stare at his friend. “And? No offense, but your relationship consists almost entirely of fighting and eye-fucking. The eye-fucking being mostly one-sided.” 

“You’re an asshole when you’re drunk, you know that?” 

“Fuck off.” Ignis reveled in the shocked looked Gladio shot him at the repeated cursing. Really, it felt good to just let his frustration out, though he would never admit that to Noctis. 

“I lost my temper,” Gladio insisted after a moment, “I really hurt him.” 

“What do you want me to do about it? They took him away from me, Gladio.” 

“Like they could ever really take him away from you. You’re fucking Ignis Scientia. You do whatever the fuck you want.” 

Ignis frowned at that, but he didn’t argue. “Why did you attack him?” he asked, suddenly going serious. 

“I don’t know,” Gladio started, then said, “I think I wanted him to understand what he’d done, so I hurt him as bad as I could.” 

“And you’re capable of causing a lot of hurt,” Ignis replied. “You know that’s not how you actually make him understand, right?” 

Gladio shrugged. “I guess.” 

“Sounds like you still have your own lessons to learn,” Ignis added with a sigh. “He’ll forgive you, you know. He always does.” 

Gladio stared at him for a minute, then lowered the bottle back down. Rather than giving it to Ignis, he took a long gulp, downing a good quarter of the remaining bottle in one go. 

“I never said you could have my liquor,” Ignis protested. He was too drunk to actually fight Gladio for it though, so he just had to watch as Gladio responded by taking an equally long second drag. 

“Asshole.” 

Gladio just laughed a small laugh. But even in his drunken state, Ignis saw how fragilely the mirth sat on the Shield’s face. 

“I’m tired of fucking fighting all the time,” Gladio said, “I just wish for once things could be easy between the three of us again.” 

“Me too,” admitted Ignis. They held each other’s gazes for a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” Gladio added with a hard look at his friend, “For what I said the other day. I can’t blame you for Noct’s bad decisions. You put enough of that on yourself as it is.” 

“. . . Thank you,” replied Ignis, not sure he completely agreed with that assessment, but unwilling to argue about it. 

“Adrian’s memorial is on Friday,” Gladio said after another moment. 

“I know. There’s a council meeting at the same time. I can't go.” 

“Hmn.” 

“I think Baron Bronns called the meeting then on purpose. Just to pressure Captain Drautos.” 

“Fucking politics.” 

Ignis blinked owlishly at the Shield. “Are you going to give me that bottle back or do I have to commit murder to regain my booze?” 

Gladio handed it over with a lavish twirl. “To Baron fucking Bronns. May he rot in hell.” 

“May he rot in hell,” Ignis repeated as he took a long swig of the booze. 

*** 

**Prompto Argentum** 

*** 

Not even two days after sending the Shield away, Prompto stood at the door, once again facing Gladio. He was alone in the house, his father still having not returned and his mother out doing Gods knew what. All pretense at pleasantries faded from Prompto’s face as he saw the man at his door. 

“I told you I needed space. What part of that was hard to grasp?” he asked coldly. 

“This ain’t about me and you or even you and Noctis,” Gladio replied, ignoring Prompto’s harsh tone. 

“Then what—?” 

“It’s about Guard Adrian, the Crownsguard who—.” 

“I know who he is,” Prompto interrupted Gladio. The Crownsguard who had stood in front of a wave of bullets for him and Noctis. What could Gladio possibly have to say to him about Guard Adrian? 

It took Gladio a moment to continue. “They had his funeral last week with all the others. But his wife is pregnant. The Kingsglaive and Crownsguard are holding a memorial and fundraiser this afternoon for her. To pay respects and raise money for the family and all that. I thought you’d at least want to know about it so you can decide if you want to go. Noctis is on lockdown at the Barracks so he won't be there.” With that, Gladio held out a small invitation card. “Here’s the address.” 

Prompto took the card, then stared at Gladio. “I thought you guys didn’t want me around other Retainers.” 

Gladio shrugged as he answered, “Lot of the strength of a new bond fades as it settles. You’re not quite so obvious anymore. You could probably get away with hiding in the crowd.” 

“Probably?” 

Gladio didn’t answer, and Prompto was struck by the reminder that out of all of them, Gladio was the only one who hadn’t wanted to keep it a secret. 

“Well, I won't take up any more of your time. Take care of yourself, Prompto.” 

Prompto watched him leave, his head spinning with confusion. Was that really all Gladio had wanted? What was the deeper play? Because surely it couldn’t be that simple. 

He hadn’t been planning on going to the memorial right up until the point he was checking the news on his laptop a few hours later, and he saw the headline: “Prince in Disgrace: Why has the Council Removed Prince Noctis from All Royal Responsibilities?” 

He clicked on the link, because of course he couldn’t help himself. It turned out the rumor mill was only partially correct. The prince had been caught sleeping with someone, but Prompto’s identity seemed to be unknown, despite the incident at school. The rumors were saying everything from a one legged prostitute to some noble woman on her second husband, to an unknown page at the Citadel. 

It was the stupidity of the rumors that did it. All this focus on the salacious drama, but Prompto had yet to see one article about the Kingsglaive and Crownsguard who had lost their lives the week before. They were nameless, with apparently no one caring what they had sacrificed. 

Prompto picked up the address card that Gladio had left him, running his fingers over it as he thought. Then he set it down and went to his closet. Somewhere he still had slacks from the school dance. As the only formalwear he had, it would have to be enough. 

*** 

The memorial was less awkward than he had feared. Gladio had been right that no one would notice him among the sea of black clad people. The address card had taken him to a villa near the Citadel, close to where he knew Gladio lived. The home of one of the generals, he later learned. 

He saw Gladio almost immediately, but when he made no effort to wave him over, Gladio seemed to deflate, and then the Shield turned around and continued talking to whoever he’d been in discussion with. Prompto felt oddly grateful for it. 

He didn’t have a lot of money, but he’d taken what he could afford and placed it in the collection box right when he’d first arrived. Then he had just wandered the edges of the party, occasionally making small talk when it was forced on him, but otherwise just silently feeling uncomfortable. 

At least, that’s how it went until the worst possible thing happened. He’d been facing the food bar when he turned around, only to discover he stood face to face with Talia, the pregnant widow of the man he had gotten killed. 

“Hello there,” she greeted warmly. 

Tension tightened his muscles all the way down to his toes. He gave her a wary look, then did his best to be gracious, saying the rote words that everyone said in a place like this. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he replied. Or at least, he tried to. The words got stuck in his throat on the way out, and all he did was trail off. He swallowed tightly. 

Her own smile waned at his stumbling effort. “I know who you are,” she said. 

“I—,” Prompto began, then stopped. How to begin to express himself, how truly sorry he was, how undeserving of this pain she and her family were? “I am so, so sorry,” he said at last, breaking the words into barely recognizable syllables, but she shook her head at him. 

She raised her hands and without hesitation clasped them around his. They were warmer, far warmer than he would have expected. Pulling their hands up together, she held his eyes unblinkingly. Though her eyes were red rimmed, her irises were a clear, crystal blue. “Don't you dare be sorry,” she commanded. “Don't you dare. My husband made a choice. So don't you ever dare take that away from him.” 

“But I—.” 

_“No,”_ she insisted, and her shaking hands squeezed his. “You want to honor him?” Her eyes bored into his as she spoke. She didn’t wait for him to answer. “Then be worth it.” 

This was the part where he was supposed to try to reassure her. She deserved that much from him. But instead he said, “I don’t know how.” 

Her eyes shone wetly. “You will,” she said. 

“You don’t know me,” he stubbornly argued. How could she be so positive, so hopeful? She was face to face with one of the people her husband had chosen over a life with her. Adrian was dead, and Prompto wasn’t. There was no universe in existence where that was fair. 

And suddenly that was all he could think about. Just how much he had fucked up over the past few weeks. How he’d killed a man, the fight with his parents, fucking Noctis, losing Noctis, and even losing his friends at school. There was nothing left and he just felt so—broken. And here was this woman, whose husband was dead because of him. Never coming back, and Prompto, hardly better than a puppet with cut strings. 

He barely registered that there was a hand on his shoulder or how he was being led inside and into a side room until he was seated on a couch, nose and eyes a sniveling mess. He tried to push her away as he realized that Talia was the one who had led him here, that she was comforting him. 

“Please, It’s fine, I’m sorry,” he babbled. 

“Stop it,” she commanded as she bodily pushed him back down, holding him in place on the couch. She was a lot stronger than she looked. With a sag, he gave in and just spent the next few minutes trying to control his heaving sobs. Her hand never left his shoulder. 

When he finally slowed down, she said to him, _“Tell me.”_ It was both a command and a request. Prompto raised his eyes to meet hers, and she refused to look away. Quietly, she added, “Please?” 

So Prompto did. With shaking hands, he slowly stretched the cotton wrist wrap over his hand, turning his palm over to show her the barcode. She glanced down, then back up at him, remaining silent the entire time. It was clear she would let him explain in his own time. 

Prompto told her what he had not told Noctis or Gladio or his parents. He told her about the kidnapping, about the gun, the realization that he had unexplained skills, his fear and lack of understanding of where those skills had come from. He told her about the argument with his parents, about coming to Noctis. He even told her about the sex, about the humiliation he had felt after the strange high of the magic had faded and he’d realized that Noctis had tricked him into ruining his visa plans. He told her that he could still feel the magic when he focused, how he had drawn a weapon at school, how broken and alone he felt. 

It was like lancing a wound that he hadn’t even known he’d had. Everything pouring out of him with no thought to danger or secrets. He wasn’t sure how long he spoke, but she never interrupted, just sitting there with her hand on his shoulder. Finally, he trailed off, his gaze somewhere in his lap. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t the way she launched herself at him, pulling him into a tight, full-body hug. 

“Thank you,” she said, “For telling me that. For trusting me.” Eventually she released him to lean back. “I’m going to tell _you_ something now, Prompto,” she said, “And I want you to commit this to memory. I want you to remember this moment for as long you’re blessed to be on this Earth.” She waited to make sure he seemed to understand. 

“What happened in that factory wasn’t your fault. You might have pulled the trigger, but the need to do that in the first place was a violence committed against you. A theft of your innocence. People who commit that sort of violence against others, who hurt children, they win when you blame yourself, when you let them escape the responsibility for what they’ve done. Because that’s the final aggression, the last form of violence they can commit, and potentially the longest lasting.” 

He'd never thought of the kidnapping as a loss of innocence before, but the way her words made his heart ache told him that she was right. The thought of innocence also brought to his mind certain other parallels. “Do you think that what happened with Noctis was the same? A theft?” 

She hesitated. “I think you’re the only one who has the right to say what that was. And you’re the only one who has the right to decide when and if you ever want to forgive him.” 

He frowned at her, not sure why he was stuck on this one point but unable to move on. “Do you think he was wrong though?” he repeated. 

“Honestly—I don’t think you were ready for what he did. Emotionally or in terms of maturation. But he also sounds like a very confused young man.” 

She squeezed his hand, and somehow her gaze grew even more intense. 

“Maybe you can't believe it right now, but I want you to remember these words, remember that I believe them with all my heart. And I want you to repeat them to yourself every day until one day you wake up and you know that they’re true, and then I still want you to tell yourself every fucking day. You are worth more than any one thing you’ve done, Prompto. You are worth more than any one of your abilities. And there is _no one_ in this world who can take that away from you.” 

Halfway through her speech, he had started crying again. His voice grew harsh and weak again. “How can you be so kind to me, knowing what I am? Knowing what your husband did for me?” 

She squeezed her own eyes shut at that. “I’m proud of Adrian, so proud of him. To wish him to be something other than what he was is disrespectful to his memory. And when I look at you I see someone who might need help right now, but who’s strong enough to overcome all things that stand before him. I look at you, and I see admirable strength, Prompto.” 

“Talia?” The voice came from somewhere outside the room. The door opened a moment later to reveal another woman in black Kingsglaive garb. The interruption seemed to break a spell. Prompto scrambled to sit up straight and hide the redness of his eyes. 

She gave him one last look and squeezed his arm once more. “Take care of yourself, Prompto,” she said. “And don’t be a stranger. I’d love for you to come visit me and the girls.” Then she walked towards the summons. He watched her go, waiting until she disappeared around the corner of the hallway before he got up himself. In a daze, he left the house, walked past the milling guests outside and through the garden gate. 

*** 

Prompto didn’t go very far. He didn’t want to be on public transit with his face streaked with tears. He’d had enough humiliation the past week, thank you. Instead, he found a little park right outside the gate. Really it was just a few trees and a bench, but they provided enough cover that he felt safe collapsing down and just letting out his feelings. 

He cried for what felt like hours, though it could only have been thirty minutes at most. 

When Gladio approached him, he wasn’t surprised. A strange sensation, like a prickle up his neck had informed him of the man’s approaching presence. “What do you want?” he asked brusquely when Gladio was only a few steps away from the bench. 

Gladio didn’t respond, instead walking forward and then sitting down next to Prompto, leaving as much room as possible between them. With his bulk, that wasn’t exactly a lot of space. Prompto unsubtly skootched over to widen the gap. 

After a long moment of silence, Gladio finally offered, “I saw you go inside with Talia.” 

Of course, he had. Prompto should have known the Shield would have been stalking him the whole time he was there. Probably to make sure he didn’t say anything about Noctis to the wrong person or something. “And?” he asked uncharitably. 

“I’m sorry.” 

It wasn’t what he expected Gladio to say, and he didn’t know how to respond. 

Prompto could field strip a gun in a few seconds flat. He could hit anything he could see with eerie accuracy. Physically, he wasn’t the strongest, but he could learn; He already proven that with his running. And now he had magic. Magic he didn’t understand, but a powerful weapon all the same. He could take all of that and run with his parents, run from what he was for the rest of his life. 

He hadn’t run from Talia though, and it was the best he’d felt in weeks. If his parents ever found out what he’d told her, they’d kill him. But they never would. Prompto didn’t even entertain the notion that she would ever spill his secrets. But still, just to have someone who knew everything, who had every reason to hate him, and yet, who somehow did not, was oddly freeing. Secrets were a heavy weight, and Prompto’s had been enough to drown under. 

But what did it mean to be worth it? What was Prompto good for? 

_You are worth more than your abilities, than any one act._ Talia had been frighteningly sincere as she spoke those words. 

“I want to join the Crownsguard,” Prompto said suddenly. He hadn’t known what he was going to say before he said it, but he found as he turned the words over in his head that he had no desire to take them back. In fact, he’d rarely been more sure about anything before in his life. 

Gladio’s expression didn’t so much as twitch. He just replied with a quiet, “Okay.” 

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Gladio attacks Noctis, and it is described as a purposeful attempt to make Noctis feel powerless and afraid as a kind of punishment for what he did to Prompto. It isnt exactly healthy behavior. Skip the second Noctis section if you want to skip that. 
> 
> Comments and kudos feed my empty, black soul. ;)


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